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THE 
HEART'S  DOMAIN 


BY 

GEORGES  DUHAMEL 

Author  of  "CIVILIZATION,  1914-1917,"  etc. 


TRANSLATED  BY 
ELEANOR  STIMSON  BROOKS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1919 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published,  September,  1919 


2.  G07 

•35  »8 


TO 
MY  SON  BERNARD 


659848 


PREFACE 

I  am  beginning  a  book  with  what  sounds  like  a 
very  ambitious  title. 

I  wish  to  say  at  once  that  I  have  no  qualifications 
to  discuss  political,  historical  or  economic  matters. 
I  leave  to  the  scholars  who  are  versed  in  these  re- 
doubtable questions  the  task  of  explaining,  skilfully 
and  definitely,  the  great  misery  that  has  befallen  our 
time. 

I  thus  at  the  same  time  renounce  most  of  the  op- 
portunities and  obligations  of  my  title. 

But  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  to  pursue  with  a 
few  people  of  good  will  a  friendly  discussion  the  ob- 
ject of  which  remains,  in  spite  of  all,  the  heart's  do- 
main, or  the  possession  of  the  world. 

The  possession  of  the  world  is  not  decided  by  guns. 
It  is  the  noble  work  of  peace.  It  is  not  involved  in 
the  struggle  which  is  now  rending  society. 

Even  so,  men  will  find  themselves  engaged  in  an 
undertaking  that  will  threaten  to  overwhelm  them 
with  suffering  and  despair. 

*  Fate  has  assigned  to  me  during  the  war  a  place 
and  a  task  of  such  a  character  that  misery  has  been 

the  only  thing  I  have  seen ;  it  has  been  my  study 

Til 


viii  PREFACE 

and  my  enemy  every  moment.  I  must  be  forgiven 
for  thinking  of  it  with  a  persistence  that  is  like  an 
obsession. 

The  whole  intelligence  of  the  world  is  absorbed  by 
the  enterprise  and  the  necessities  of  the  war ;  there 
is  little  chance  of  rousing  it  now  from  this  in  favor 
of  the  happiness  of  the  race,  in  favor  of  that  happi- 
ness which  is  compromised  for  the  future  and  de- 
stroyed for  the  present.  It  is  to  the  heart  one  must 
address  oneself.  It  is  to  all  the  generous  hearts 
that  one  must  make  one's  appeal. 

So,  if  I  am  spurred  by  an  ambition,  it  is  to  beg 
the  world  to  seek  once  more  whatever  can  lighten  the 
present  and  the  future  distress  of  mankind,  to  seek 
the  springs  of  interest  that  exist  for  the  soul  in  a 
life  harassed  with  difficulties,  perils  and  disillusion- 
ments,  to  honor  more  than  ever  the  faithful  and  in- 
corruptible resources  of  the  inner  life. 

The  inner  life! 

It  has  never  ceased  to  shine,  a  precious,  quiver- 
ing flame,  devoting  all  its  ardor  in  a  struggle  against 
the  breath  of  these  great  events,  resisting  this 
tempest  which  has  had  no  parallel. 

It  has  never  ceased  to  shine,  but  its  shy  and  faith- 
ful light  trembles  in  a  sort  of  crypt  into  which  we 
fear  to  venture. 

What  has  happened  has  seized  upon  us  as  upon 


PREFACE  k 

its  prey.  During  the  first  months  of  the  war,  dur- 
ing the  first  years  perhaps,  all  our  physical  and 
moral  energies  were  overwhelmed  in  this  maelstrom. 
How,  indeed,  could  one  refuse  oneself  to  the  appetite 
of  the  monster?  We  did  not  even  try  to  snatch 
from  him  our  hours  of  leisure,  our  dreams.  We 
simply  abandoned  such  things,  as  we  abandoned  our 
plans,  our  welfare,  and  the  whole  of  our  existence. 

You  remember !  It  was  a  time  when  solitude 
found  us  more  shaken,  more  disarmed,  than  peril. 
We  reproached  ourselves  for  distracting  a  single  one 
of  our  thoughts  from  the  universal  distress.  We 
gave  ourselves  day  and  night  to  this  agonizing 
world ;  and  when  our  work  was  suspended,  when  the 
wild  beast  unloosed  its  clutch,  as  if  in  play,  and 
we  returned  for  a  few  minutes  to  ourselves,  we  did 
not  always  dare  to  look  the  quivering  inner  flame 
in  the  face.  What  it  lighted  up  in  us  seemed  at 
times  too  foreign  to  our  anxiety,  or  too  filled  with 
limpid  serenity.  And  so  we  returned  to  our  wretch- 
edness, experiencing  it  to  the  point  of  intoxication, 
to  the  point  of  despair. 

When  I  think  of  the  year  1915,  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  still  hear  all  those  noble  comrades  saying  to 
me  with  a  sort  of  dejection:  "  I  can't  think  of  any- 
thing else!  I  can  neither  read,  nor  work,  nor  seek 
to  distract  myself  to  any  purpose.  When  I  'm  off 
duty  I  think  about  these  days,  I  think  about  them 


x  PREFACE 

unceasingly,  till  I  feel  seasick,  till  I  feel  dizzy.  I  've 
just  had  two  hours  of  liberty.  Once  upon  a  time  I 
should  have  given  them  to  Pascal  or  to  Tolstoy. 
Today  I  have  employed  them  in  reading  some  docu- 
mentary works  on  the  manufacture  of  torpedoes  and 
on  European  colonial  methods.  They  are  subjects 
that  will  always  be  outside  my  line,  subjects  I  shall 
never  be  interested  in.  But  how  can  I  think  of  any- 
thing else?  " 

Perhaps  it  is  not  a  question  of  thinking  of  any- 
thing else.  It  is  not  a  question  of  turning  one's 
back  on  the  time,  but  rather  of  looking  it  in  the  face, 
calmly  and  collectedly. 

When  the  first  great  excitement  had  passed  away, 
those  who  had  the  wisdom  and  the  courage  to  return 
assiduously  to  themselves  found  their  inner  life  en- 
nobled, augmented,  enriched.  For  it  does  not  cease 
to  labor  on  in  the  depths  of  us.  It  is  at  once  our- 
selves and  something  other  than  ourselves,  better 
than  ourselves.  Like  certain  of  our  organs  which 
are  endowed  with  a  marvelous  independence  and  pur- 
sue a  vigilant  activity  in  the  midst  of  our  agitations 
and  our  sleep,  the  inner  life  comes  to  its  fruitage 
even  though  we  are  full  of  ingratitude  and  indiffer- 
ence towards  it.  It  is  the  faithful  spouse  who  keeps 
the  home  radiant,  arranges  every  comfort  and  spins 
at  the  wheel,  behind  the  door,  awaiting  our  return. 

And  behold  we  are  returning! 


PREFACE  xi 

To  be  sure,  the  storm  still  roars  on.  It  grows 
greater,  more  furious,  more  unending.  Never  has  it 
seemed  more  complex,  more  grave,  more  difficult. 
Peril  has  taken  up  its  abode  with  us.  Every  sort  of 
opinion  holds  up  its  head  and  vehemently  solicits 
our  belief. 

But  we  have  found  once  more  the  key  and  the  path 
to  the  secret  refuge.  Nothing  could  turn  us  aside 
now.  Nothing  could  prevent  us  at  certain  hours 
from  plunging  into  solitude,  there  to  find  again  the 
equilibrium,  the  harmony  and  those  moral  riches 
which  we  know,  after  the  ruin  of  so  many  things, 
are  alone  efficacious,  alone  durable. 

For  long  months  now  I  have  realized,  watching 
the  men  with  whom  I  live,  that  they  are  waiting  for 
words  of  quietude,  words  of  rest  and  love.  They 
are  like  parched  soil  at  the  end  of  a  blazing  summer : 
they  long  to  slake  their  thirst  and  grow  green 
again. 

In  vain  have  destruction,  disorder  and  death  tried 
to  break  up  the  sublime  and  familiar  colloquy  that 
every  being  pursues  with  the  better  part  of  himself. 
That  colloquy  revives,  it  begins  again,  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  battle,  among  the  odors  and  the  groans 
of  the  hospital. 

Nevertheless,  the  daily  work  is  done,  well  done ; 
duty  is  properly  weighed  and  accomplished;  the  soul 
simply  is  unwilling  any  longer  to  renounce  its  modi- 


xii  PREFACE 

tation  upon  all  that  is  profound,  imperishable,  and 
immaterial  in  the  present. 

Tell  me  that  we  are  going  to  labor  in  concert  once 
more  at  the  exploitation  of  our  inner  fortune.  Tell 
me  that  we  are  going  to  labor  to  save  from  shipwreck 
that  part  of  us  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  errors,  un- 
certainties, crimes  and  disillusionments,  remains 
truly  noble  and  worthy  of  eternity. 

I  am  able  to  undertake  this  e^say  thanks  to  the 
leisure  moments  the  war  has  been  willing  to  grant 
me.  It  is  not  purely  the  fruit  of  solitary  medita- 
tions. I  do  not  live  alone:  my  chosen  comrades  sur- 
round me;  they  share  with  me  the  confused  space 
of  our  dwelling;  we  share  together  all  the  thoughts 
that  fill  this  space. 

Friendship  has  accomplished  the  miracle  of  trans- 
forming into  a  communion  what,  without  it,  would 
have  remained  a  promiscuity. 

I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  expressing  the  desires 
and  the  thoughts  of  many  men.  Very  soon,  those 
who  are  here  will  be  going  to  sleep ;  I  shall  continue 
my  writing,  but  with  the  secret  certitude  of  not  be- 
ing alone  in  the  task,  of  carrying  with  me  their  tacit 
assent.  I  feel  that  I  have  been  entrusted  with  a 
sort  of  mandate. 

I  have  no  library,  no  documents.  But  do  we  need 
books  in  order  to  converse  together  of  the  things 


PREFACE  xiii 

that  form  the  very  substance  of  our  existence? 
Does  it  not  suffice  to  consult  our  souls?  Do  we  need 
any  other  guarantee  than  our  devout  desire  in  order 
to  lift  an  open  hand  and  make,  for  all  those  who 
await  it  in  their  solitude,  the  sign  of  concord  and  of 
hope? 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  TH£  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS 3 

II  POVERTY  AND  RICHES 21 

III  THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS 33 

IV  ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  ....  69 

V  THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE 94 

VI  SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION 110 

VII  THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE 126 

VIII  THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES 146 

IX  APOSTLESHIP 160 

X     ON  THE  REIGN  or  THE  HEART           .            .  178 


THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 


THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS 


IT  was  necessary  for  me  to  pass  middle  age  in 
order  to  become  convinced  that  happiness  was 
the  object  of  my  life,  as  it  is  the  object  of  all  human- 
ity, as  it  is  the  object  of  the  whole  world  of  living 
things. 

At  first  sight,  that  statement  seems  self-evident. 
And  yet  many  a  time  have  I  questioned  my  friends, 
my  relatives,  my  chance  companions  on  this  subject 
and  I  have  received  the  most  contradictory  replies. 

Many  seemed  taken  unawares  and,  overwhelmed 
with  their  various  burdens,  would  not  trouble  to  seek 
an  object :  they  were  in  pursuit  of  happiness  with- 
out naming  it.  Others,  excited  by  the  play  of  argu- 
ment, acknowledged  as  the  object  of  life  all  sorts  of 
states  or  manners  of  being  which  are  nothing  but 
steps  toward  happiness,  means  good  or  bad  of  seek- 
ing it,  such  as  movement,  stoical  indifference,  or 

3 


4  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

prayer.  Others  confused  the  end  with  the  object 
and  named  death.  Still  others,  maddened  by  their 
misery,  gave  it  as  their  bitter  conclusion  that  unhap- 
piness  is  the  actual  destiny  of  man,  and  these  con- 
fused the  obstacle  with  the  aim.  Finally,  there  were 
some  who  gave  to  happiness  names  dictated  by  their 
aspirations,  their  culture,  their  accustomed  manner 
of  using  words,  and  called  it  God,  or  eternal  life, 
or  the  salvation  of  the  soul. 

As  for  me,  in  spite  of  all,  I  am  sure  that  happiness 
is  the  object  of  life.  This  certitude  has  come  to  me 
altogether  from  within,  not  from  outside  events,  and 
not  from  the  spectacle  of  other  men.  Like  all  the 
certitudes  of  the  inner  life,  it  is  obstinate  and  even 
aggressive.  All  objections  seem  simply  made  to 
fortify  it.  It  dominates  them  all.  I  have  not  been 
able  even  to  imagine  a  new  certitude  that  could  in- 
validate or  replace  this  one. 

Upon  reflection,  the  path  and  the  end  are  identical. 
Happiness  is  not  only  the  aim,  the  reason  of  life, 
it  is  its  means,  its  expression,  its  essence.  It  is  life 
itself. 

II 

One  might  well  doubt  this.  The  whole  of  human- 
ity at  this  moment  utters  one  despairing,  heart-rend- 
ing cry.  It  bellows  like  a  wounded  beast  of  burden, 
it  simply  does  not  understand  its  wound. 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  5 

All  convictions  and  all  certitudes  are  at  one  an- 
other's throats.  How  can  we  recognize  them,  with 
that  lost  look  they  have,  that  blood  that  soils  and 
disfigures  them?  In  the  hurricane,  opinions,  up- 
rooted, have  lost  their  soil  and  their  sap.  They 
drift  like  autumn  thistles,  dry  thistles  that  yet  have 
power  to  tear  the  skin.  Men  no  longer  know  any- 
thing but  their  insurmountable  suffering,  a  suffering 
that  has  no  limit  and  seems  to  be  without  reason. 
They  groan  and  desire  nothing  but  to  be  alleviated. 
Will  a  century  of  pious  tenderness  suffice  to  bathe, 
drain,  close  the  vast  wound? 

Without  delay,  O  streaming  wound,  your  living 
flesh  must  be  stanched  and  bathed.  From  now  on, 
no  matter  how  long  you  bleed,  you  must  be  anointed 
and  protected,  and  if  you  are  opened  up  again  ten 
times,  ten  times  must  you  be  anointed  anew  and 
covered  once  more. 

Yet,  do  not  doubt  it,  humanity  even  in  this  ter- 
rible hour  seeks  for  nothing  but  its  own  happiness. 
It  rushes  forward,  by  instinct,  like  a  herd  that  smells 
the  salt-lick  and  the  spring.  But  it  will  suffocate 
rather  than  not  enjoy  everything  together  and  at 
once. 

Happiness? 

God !  who  has  given  it  this  painful  and  ridiculous 
idea?  What  were  they  about,  the  priests,  the 
scientists,  and  the  people  who  write  the  books? 


6  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

What  has  been  taught  the  children  of  men  that  they 
could  have  been  made  to  believe  that  war  brings  hap- 
piness to  anyone?  Let  them  declare  themselves, 
those  who  have  assured  the  poor  in  spirit  that  their 
happiness  depends  upon  the  possession  of  a  province, 
an  iron-mine,  or  a  foaming  arm  of  the  sea  between 
two  distant  continents! 

It  is  thus  that  they  have  all  set  out  for  the  con- 
quest of  happiness,  since  that  is  destiny,  and  there 
has  been  placed  in  their  hands  precisely  what  was 
certain  to  destroy  happiness  forever. 

And  yet,  if  you  will  bear  with  me,  we  need  not 
lose  all  hope.  So  long  as  there  is  a  single  wall-flower 
to  tremble  in  the  coming  Aprils  over  the  ruins  of  the 
world,  let  us  repeat  from  the  depths  of  our  hearts: 
"  Happiness,  you  are  truly  my  end  and  the  reason 
for  my  being,  I  know  it  through  my  own  tears." 

Ill 

I  went,  lately,  to  a  laboratory,  in  the  heart  of  a 
wilderness  of  glass  and  porcelain,  haunted  with  in- 
human odors.  A  friend  dwelt  there.  I  saw  a  great 
crystal  cask  full  of  distilled  water ;  the  sunlight  quiv- 
ered through  it  freely  and  majestically.  There,  I 
thought,  is  the  desert.  That  water  contained  noth- 
ing, it  was  unfitted  for  life,  it  was  as  empty  as  a  dead 
world. 

But  then  we  scratched  the  bottom  of  the  cask  and 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  7 

looked  at  it  with  the  microscope.  Little  round, 
green  algae  were  growing  in  that  desert.  A  current 
of  air  had  carried  the  germs,  and  they  had  increased 
and  multiplied.  There  where  there  was  nothing  to 
seize  upon,  they  had  yet  found  something.  The 
taste  of  barren  glass,  a  few  stray  grains  of  dust, 
that  soulless  water,  that  sunlight,  they  had  asked  for 
nothing  more  in  order  to  subsist  and  work  out  their 
humble  joy. 

I  thought  of  this  virtue  of  life,  <this  perseverance, 
as  of  a  hymn  to  happiness,  a  silent  hymn  prevailing 
over  the  roars  of  the  conquest. 

Nothing  discourages  life  except,  perhaps,  the  ex- 
cess of  itself. 

If  Europe,  too  rich  and  too  beautiful,  is  to  be 
henceforth  the  vessel  of  all  the  sorrows,  it  is  because 
happiness  has  assumed  an  unclean  mask:  the  mask 
of  pleasure.  For  pleasure  is  not  joy. 

Patience!  The  whole  world  has  not  been  poi- 
soned. 

I  know  of  mosses  that  succeed  in  living  upon  acids. 
The  antiseptics,  whose  property  it  is  to  destroy  liv- 
ing things,  are  at  times  invaded  by  these  obstinafe 
fungi  which  encamp  there,  acclimatize  themselves  and 
modestly  fulfil  their  destiny. 

One  must  have  confidence  in  happiness.  One  must 
have  more  confidence  than  ever,  for  never  was  hap- 
piness more  greatly  lacking  to  the  mass  of  men.  So 


8  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

cruelly  is  the  world  astray,  so  immensely,  so  evi- 
dently, too,  that  we  cannot  wait  for  the  consumma- 
tion to  denounce  it  and  reprove  it. 

Like  those  algae,  those  mosses,  those  laborious 
lichens  that  attach  to  the  very  ruins  themselves  their 
infinite  need  of  happiness,  let  us  seek  our  joy  in  the 
distress  of  the  present  and  make  it  open  for  us,  like 
a  plant  beaten  by  the  winds,  in  the  desert  of  a  blasted 
world. 

IV 

You  must  understand  that  this  concerns  happiness 
and  not  pleasure,  or  well-being,  or  enjoyment,  or  the 
delight  of  the  senses. 

All  cultivated  people  have  created  different  words 
to  designate  these  different  things.  All  have  com- 
mitted their  moralists  to  the  task  of  preserving 
simple  souls  from  a  confusion  which  our  instincts 
favor. 

Delight  of  the  senses,  you  who  are  the  eternally  un- 
satisfactory, is  it  true,  intangible  one,  that  you  will 
always  deceive  us  and  that  we  shall  always  seek  for 
happiness  through  you? 

What  seductiveness  is  not  yours,  0  you  who  smile 
with  the  lips  of  love,  O  mysterious  phantom  of  joy? 
How  you  lure  us  and  enchain  us!  Well  you  know 
how  to  array  yourself,  at  times,  in  the  appearance 
of  a  sacred  mission,  a  religious  duty ! 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  9 

No,  you  are  not  happiness,  divine  though  you  are ! 
To  live  without  you  is  a  bitter  misfortune,  but  you 
are  not  happiness ! 

Why  does  happiness  command  us  to  sacrifice  you 
often,  to  mistrust  you  always? 

There  is  no  happiness  without  harmonv ;  you  know 
this  very  well,  you  who  are  delicious  disorder  itself, 
death,  laughter,  strife. 

Happiness  is  our  home-land.  You  are  only  the 
burning  country  we  long  for,  the  tropical  isle  where 
our  dreams  exile  themselves,  never  to  return. 

Happiness  is  our  true  kingdom.  Delight  of  the 
senses,  let  your  slaves  hymn  your  praise. 


During  the  summer  of  1916  I  found  among  the 
meadows  of  the  Marne  a  flower  that  had  three  odors. 
It  is  a  very  common  flower  in  France:  it  adorns  a 
low  and  spiny  plant  which  the  peasants  call  "  arrete- 
bceuf"  Toward  midday,  at  the  hour  when  the  sun 
exasperates  all  its  creatures,  this  flower  exhales  three 
different  odors :  the  first  is  soft,  fresh  and  resembles 
the  perfume  of  the  sweet  pea ;  the  second  is  sharp 
and  makes  one  think  of  phosphor  irritant,  of  a 
flame ;  the  third  is  the  secret  breath  of  love.  This 
miraculous  flower  really  has  all  three  of  these  odors 
at  once,  but  we  perceive  them  more  easily  one  at  a 
time  because  we  are  not  worthy  of  all  this  wealth. 


10  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

This  little  discovery  descended  upon  my  weary 
head  like  a  benediction.  At  that  time  we  were  leav- 
ing the  miseries  of  Verdun  behind  and  were  just 
on  the  point  of  plunging  into  those  of  the  Somme. 
The  intermediate  rest  depressed  us  and  enervated 
us  by  turns.  In  the  walks  across  the  fields  which  we 
took  with  our  comrades,  I  grew  accustomed  every 
day  to  gather  a  root  of  arrcte-bceuf  and  offer  it,  as 
a  gift,  to  those  who  accompanied  me,  so  that  they 
might  share  my  discovery. 

Some  of  them,  anxious  about  the  world  and  their 
own  fortune,  took  pleasure  in  this  modest  marvel. 
They  breathed  in  with  these  perfumes  the  inexhaust- 
ible variety  of  the  lavish  universe.  They  distin- 
guished and  recognized,  smilingly,  the  three  odors  of 
this  one  being.  They  honored  these  three  am- 
bassadors whom  a  people  of  unknown  virtues  had  as- 
signed to  them.  They  interpreted  as  a  revelation 
the  little  signs  of  the  latent  opulence  which  challenges 
and  disdains  the  majority  of  bewildered  men. 

But  others  remained  insensible  to  this  delicate 
prayer,  and  these  I  thought  of  with  chagrin  as  of 
men  who  had  no  care  for  the  welfare  of  their  own 
souls. 

I  know  quite  well  you  will  say,  "  There  is  no  rela- 
tion between  this  flower  and  the  welfare  of  the  soul." 
But  this  relation  does  exist,  emphatically  and 
definitely.  Truth  shines  out  of  every  merest  trifle 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  11 

that  goes  to  make  up  the  world.  We  must  fasten 
our  eyes  ardently  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  a  light  shin- 
ing through  the  branches,  arid  march  forward. 

I  am  sure,  we  are  all  sure,  that  happiness  is  the 
very  reason  for  our  existence.  Let  it  be  added  at 
once  that  happiness  is  founded  upon  possession,  that 
is  to  say,  upon  the  perfect  and  profound  understand- 
ing of  something. 

For  this  reason  men  who  have  a  high  conception 
of  happiness  aspire  to  the  complete  and  definite 
knowledge  of  an  absolute,  a  perfection  which  they 
name  God.  The  desire  for  eternal  life  is  a  bound- 
less need  of  possession. 

Equally  noble  is  the  passionate  desire  of  certain 
men  to  understand,  to  possess  themselves,  to  have 
such  an  exact  and  merciless  conception  of  their 
moral  and  physical  nature  as  will  give  them  some 
sort  of  mastery  over  it. 

It  is  indeed  a  beautiful  destiny  to  pursue  the 
understanding  of  the  external  world  with  the 
weapons  and  the  arguments  of  a  science  that  is  not 
the  slave  of  conquest.  Men  who  achieve  this  may 
indeed  be  called  just. 

Others  wish  to  possess  a  house,  a  field,  a  pair  of 
earrings,  an  automobile.  For  them  possession  is  not 
understanding,  it  is  above  all  else  an  exclusive  and 
almost  solitary  enjoyment.  They  deceive  them- 
selves about  happiness  and  about  possession.  They 


12  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

deceive  themselves  to  the  actual  point  of  war,  mas- 
sacre and  destruction. 

If  we  wish  it,  we  may  possess  the  whole  universe, 
and  it  is  in  this  possession  that  we  shall  find  the  sal- 
vation of  our  souls.  We  may  possess,  for  example, 
that  unknown  something  which  walks  by  the  road- 
side, the  color  of  the  forest  of  pointed  firs  that  rises 
sharply  against  the  southern  horizon,  the  thoughts 
of  Beethoven,  our  dreams  by  night,  the  conception 
of  space,  our  memories,  our  future,  the  odor  and  the 
weight  of  objects,  our  grief  at  this  moment  and 
thousands  and  thousands  of  other  things  besides. 

Is  my  soul  immortal?  Alas !  how  can  I  still  linger 
in  this  ancient,  ingenuous  hope?  There  are  millions 
who,  like  me,  can  no  longer  give  reasonable  credence 
to  such  an  impossible  happiness. 

But  does  my  soul  exist?  Every  thought  bears 
witness  that  it  does,  and  this  life  of  ours  too,  and  the 
inexplicable  life  that  is  all  about  us. 

When  Christians  speak  of  the  salvation  of  the 
soul,  they  are  thinking  of  all  sorts  of  assurances  and 
precautions  in  regard  to  that  future  life  which  re- 
mains the  greatest  charm  of  religion  and  at  the  same 
time  its  most  wonderful  weapon. 

We  can  give  a  humbler  but  more  immediate  mean- 
ing to  this  expression. 

First  of  all,  not  to  be  ignorant  of  our  own  souls ! 

To  think  about  the  soul,  to  think  about  it  at  least 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  13 

once  in  the  confusion  of  every  crowded  day,  is  indeed 
the  beginning  of  salvation. 

To  think  with  perseverance  and  respect  of  the 
soul,  to  enrich  it  unceasingly,  that  will  be  our 
sanctity. 

VI 

We  have  all  known  those  men  who,  at  the  first 
break  of  day,  while  they  are  still  half  awake  and 
barely  rested,  fling  themselves  into  the  stress  of  busi- 
ness. They  pass  all  day  from  one  man  to  another 
in  a  sort  of  blind,  buzzing  frenzy.  They  are  cease- 
lessly reaching  out  to  take,  to  appropriate  for  them- 
selves. If  a  moment  of  solitude  offers  itself,  they 
pull  note-books  out  of  their  pockets  and  begin  figur- 
ing. Between  whiles  they  eat,  drink  and  seek  a  sort 
of  sleep  that  is  more  arid  than  death.  Looking  at 
these  unfortunates,  who  are  often  men  of  great  im- 
portance, one  would  imagine  their  souls  were  like  de- 
crepit poor  relations,  relegated  to  some  corner  of 
their  personality,  with  which  they  never  concern 
themselves. 

I  was  once  returning  from  the  country  on  a  train 
with  a  young  surgeon  on  whom  that  cruel  fortune 
which  we  call  success  was  beginning  to  smile.  I  can 
still  see  him,  breathless  and  almost  stupefied,  on  the 
seat  facing  me.  He  had  been  talking  to  me  of  his 
work,  of  how  he  spent  his  time,  with  a  restless  ex- 


14.  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

citement  which  the  noise  of  the  train  hammered  and 
disjointed  and  gave  a  sort  of  rhythm  to.  Evening 
was  falling.  It  gave  me  pleasure  to  look  at  the 
young  poplars  in  the  valley  beside  the  track,  their 
foliage  and  slender  trunks  transfigured  by  the  sun- 
set. My  friend  looked  at  them  also,  and  suddenly 
he  murmured :  "It 's  true !  I  'm  no  longer  in- 
terested in  those  things,  I  no  longer  pay  attention 
to  anything."  Through  the  fatigue  and  anxiety  of 
his  affairs,  through  the  jingling  calculation  of  his 
profits,  he  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  error, 
of  his  real  poverty.  His  repudiated  soul  stirred  in 
the  depths  of  his  being  as  the  infant  stirs  in  its 
mother's  womb. 

It  is  constantly  awakening  in  this  way  and  timidly 
reclaiming  its  rights.  Often,  an  unexpected  word 
strikes  us,  a  word  that  comes  from  it  and  reveals  it. 
I  have  as  a  workfellow  a  quiet,  studious  young  man 
who  takes  life  "  seriously,"  that  is  to  say,  in  such  a 
fashion  that  he  gets  himself  into  a  fine  state  of  mind 
and  will  die,  perhaps,  without  having  known,  with- 
out having  saved,  the  soul  with  which  he  is  charged. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  June  of  this  year 
1918,  I  found  myself  hard  at  work  during  one  of 
those  overwhelming  afternoons  that  seem,  on  our 
barren  Champagne,  like  a  white  furnace,  a  glistening 
desert.  There  were  many  wounded  and  the  greater 
part  had  been  uncared  for  for  several  days ;  the 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  15 

barrack  that  served  us  as  an  operating-hall  was 
overcrowded ;  our  task  was  a  tragic  one ;  the  demon 
of  war  had  imprisoned  us  under  his  knee.  We  felt 
crushed,  exasperated,  swamped  in  these  immediate 
realities.  Between  two  wounded  men,  as  I  was  soap- 
ing my  gloves,  I  saw  my  young  comrade  looking 
far  away  through  a  little  window  and  his  gaze  was 
suddenly  bathed  with  calm  and  peace.  "  What  are 
you  looking  at?  "  I  said  to  him.  "  Oh !  nothing,"  he 
replied ;  "  only  I  'm  resting  myself  on  that  little  tuft 
of  verdure  down  there:  it  refreshes  me  so  much." 

VII 

It  seems  childish  and  paradoxical  to  oppose  to  all 
the  concrete  and  formidable  realities  that  are  consid- 
ered as  the  hereditary  wealth  of  mankind  an  almost 
purely  ideal  world  of  joys  that  have  no  price,  that 
remain  outside  all  our  bargainings,  that  are  un- 
stable, often  fugitive,  and  always  relative  in  appear- 
ance, whenever  we  put  them  to  the  test.  Yet  they 
alone  are  absolute,  they  alone  are  true.  Where  they 
are  lacking  there  may  be  a  place  for  amusement, 
there  is  no  place  for  true  happiness.  They  alone 
are  capable  of  assuring  the  salvation  of  the  soul. 
We  ought  to  labor  passionately  to  find  them,  to 
amass  them  as  the  veritable  treasures  of  humanity. 

The  future  we  are  permitted  to  glimpse  seems  the 
very  negation  of  happiness  and  the  ruin  of  the  soul. 


16  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

If  this  is  true,  we  must  examine  it  with  open  minds 
and  then,  with  all  our  strength,  refuse  it. 

Just  this  moment,  when  the  struggle  for  mastery 
goes  on,  to  the  great  peril  of  the  soul,  among  the 
peoples,  just  this  moment  I  choose  for  saying: 
"  Let  us  think  of  the  salvation  of  our  souls."  And 
this  salvation  is  not  a  matter  of  the  future  but  of 
the  present  hour.  Let  us  recognize  the  existence 
of  the  soul;  it  is  thus  that  we  shall  save  it.  Let  us 
give  it  the  freedom  of  the  city  in  a  world  where  every- 
thing conspires  to  silence  or  destroy  it.  If  it  is  true 
that  this  withdraws  us  from  that  struggle  for  exist- 
ence, the  clamor  of  which  assails  our  ears,  well,  even 
so,  I  believe  it  is  better  to  die  than  to  remain  in  a 
universe  from  which  the  soul  is  banished.  But  we 
shall  have  occasion  to  speak  more  than  once  of  this. 

Let  us  not  forget  that  happiness  is  our  one  aim. 
Happiness  is,  above  all,  a  thing  of  the  spirit,  and  we 
shall  only  deserve  it  at  the  price  of  the  honors  we 
render  to  the  noblest  part  of  our  being. 

VIII 

There  are  people  who  have  said  to  me,  "  My  hap- 
piness lies  in  this  very  hurly-burly,  this  brutish  labor, 
this  frantic  agitation  which  you  spurn.  Outside 
this  turmoil  of  business  and  society,  I  am  bored.  I 
need  it.  I  need  it  in  order  to  divert  my  thoughts." 

No  doubt !     No  doubt !     But  what  have  you  done 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  17 

with  your  life  that  it  has  become  necessary  to  divert 
your  thoughts?  What  have  you  made  of  your  past, 
what  do  you  hope  from  your  future  when  this  al- 
cohol, this  opium,  has  become  necessary  to  you? 

You  must  understand  me,  there  is  no  question,  if 
you  are  built  as  an  athlete,  of  letting  your  muscles 
deteriorate.  There  is  no  question,  if  you  have  a 
great  tbirst  for  controversy,  a  natural  aptitude  for 
struggle,  of  letting  that  thirst  go  unsatisfied,  that 
aptitude  uncultivated.  The  question  is  simply  one 
of  harmoniously  employing  all  these  fine  gifts,  of  en- 
riching yourself  with  those  real  treasures  the  uni- 
verse bestows  on  those  who  wish  to  take  them,  and 
not  of  wearing  out  your  radiant  strength  in  the 
labors  of  a  street-porter,  a  galley-slave  or  an  execu- 
tioner. 

Here  is  a  man  who  says  to  me :  "  My  happiness ! 
My  happiness !  But  it  consists  in  never  thinking  of 
my  soul."  What  a  sad  thing!  And  how  gravely 
one  must  have  offended  others  and  one's  own  self  to 
have  reached  that  point ! 

For  where  shall  he  who  loves  torment,  passionate 
restlessness,  uncertainty,  and  remorse  discover  these 
terrible  blessings  if  it  is  not  in  the  depths  of  his  own 

hateful  ego? 

IX 

If  anyone  tells  you  something  strange  about  the 
world,  something  you  have  never  heard  before,  do 


18  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

not  laugh  but  listen  attentively ;  make  him  repeat  it, 
make  him  explain  it:  no  doubt  there  is  something 
there  worth  taking  hold  of. 

The  cult  of  the  soul  is  a  perpetual  discovery  of  it- 
self and  the  universe  which  it  reflects.  The  purest 
happiness  is  not  a  stable  and  final  frame  of  mind, 
it  is  an  equilibrium  produced  by  an  incessant  com- 
promise which  has  to  be  adroitly  reestablished;  it  is 
the  rpward  of  a  constant  activity ;  it  increases  in  pro- 
portion to  the  daily  corrections  one  brings  to  it. 

One  must  not  cling  obstinately  to  one's  own  in- 
terpretations of  the  world  but  unceasingly  renew  the 
flowers  on  tbc  altar. 

In  quite  another  order  of  ideas  I  think  of  those 
old-fashioned  manufacturers  who  are  immovably  set 
against  trying  any  of  the  new  machines  and  perish  in 
their  stubbornness.  That  is  nothing  but  a  com- 
parison: to  justify  the  machine  folly  is  quite  the 
opposite  of  my  desire.  I  simply  wish  to  show  that 
routine  affects  equally  the  things  of  the  mind  and  of 
the  heart,  that  it  is  a  very  formidable  thing. 

Kipling,  1  believe,  tells  the  story  of  a  Hindu 
colony  that  was  decimated  by  famine.  The  poor 
folk  let  themselves  die  of  hunger  without  touching 
the  wheat  that  had  been  brought  for  them,  because 
they  had  been  used  to  eating  millet. 

If  the  sacred  lamp  of  happiness  some  day  comes 
to  lack  the  ritual  oil,  we  shall  not  let  it  go  out;  we 


THE  HOPE  OF  HAPPINESS  19 

shall   surely  find   something  with  which   to   feed  it, 
something  that  will  serve  for  light  and  heat. 

X 

The  will  to  happiness  attains  its  perfection  in  the 
mature  man.  With  adolescence  it  passes  through  a 
redoubtable  crisis. 

Nietzsche  says:  "  There  is  less  melancholy  in  the 
mature  man  than  in  the  young  man."  It  is  true. 

Very  young  people  cultivate  sadness  as  something 
noble.  They  do  not  readily  forgive  themselves  for 
not  being  always  sad.  They  have  discovered  the 
mysterious  isle  of  melancholy  and  do  not  wish  to 
escape  from  it  again.  They  love  everything  about 
that  black  magician  and  his  attitudes  and  his  tears 
and  his  nostalgia  and  his  romantic  beauty.  They 
have  a  fierce  disdain  for  vulgar  pleasures  and  take 
refuge  in  sadness  because  they  do  not  yet  know  the 
splendor  and  majesty  of  joy. 

But  in  their  own  fashion,  which  is  full  of  disdain, 
reserve  and  ingenuous  complexity,  they  do  not  any 
the  less  seek  for  happiness. 

With  age  happiness  appears  as  truly  the  sole, 
serene  study  of  man.  As  he  rests  upon  the  moral 
possession  of  the  world,  he  believes  that  with  time  and 
experience  he  can  remain  insensible  to  the  wearing 
out  of  his  bodily  organs. 

He  who  knows  how  to  be  happy  and  to  win  for- 


20  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

giveness  for  his  happiness,  how  enviable  he  is !  —  the 
only  true  model  among  those  that  are  wise. 

It  is  now,  just  now,  that  these  things  ought  to  be 
said,  in  the  hour  when  our  old  continent  bleeds  in 
every  member,  in  the  hour  when  our  future  seems 
blotted  out  by  the  menace  of  every  sort  of  servitude 
and  of  a  hopeless  labor  that  will  know  neither 
measure  nor  redemption. 


n 

POVERTY  AND  RICHES 


THE  Christian  doctrine,  which  has  all  the 
beauties,  has  all  the  audacities  too.  It  has 
endeavored  to  make  the  sublime  and  daring  notion 
prevail  among  the  mass  of  men  that  salvation  is  re- 
served for  the  poor.  What  a  magnificent  thing! 
And  if  this  religion  of  poverty  has  degenerated  in  the 
course  of  the  centuries,  with  what  consolation  has  it 
not  bathed  those  thrice-happy  souls  whom  an  un- 
broken faith  guides  through  misery  and  humiliation ! 
But  there  has  never  been  a  religion  which  has  been 
able  to  found  itself  upon  renunciation  without  com- 
pensation. Is  he  poor,  this  man  who  consents  to  go 
unclad,  roofless,  unfed,  up  to  the  day  when  there  will 
be  showered  upon  him  all  the  riches  of  the  kingdom  of 
God?  Has  he  no  thought  of  a  supreme  gift,  of  a 
magnificent  possession,  the  man  to  whom  his  master, 
in  person,  has  given  the  command :  "  Lay  up  your 
treasures  in  heaven,  where  they  will  not  be  lost  "? 

He  does  not  exist,  the  hopeless  being  who  does  not 
21 


22  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

hunger  for  some  treasure,  even  if  it  is  an  imaginary 
one,  even  an  unreal  one,  even  one  that  is  lost  in  a  be- 
wildering future. 

In  what  an  abyss  of  poverty  should  we  groan  if  our 
kingdom  were  not  of  this  world  and  were  nowhere 
outside  the  world,  either? 

And  now  a  generation  of  men  has  come  that  no 
longer  believes  in  the  supernatural  felicities  of  the 
future  life  and  seems  no  longer  to  have  anything  to 
hope  from  a  world  consumed  by  hatred  and  given  over 
inevitably,  for  long  years,  to  confusion,  destitution, 
egotistical  passions. 

In  truth,  the  programmes  of  the  social  factions 
have  no  consolation  for  us,  there  is  nothing  in  them 
that  speaks  of  love  and  the  true  blessings ;  all  these 
monuments  of  eloquence  bring  us  back  to  hatred  and 
anguish. 

The  most  generous  of  them  only  give  us  glimpses 
of  new  struggles,  new  sheddings  of  blood,  when  our 
age  is  drunk  with  crime  and  fatigue.  To  whichever 
side  the  individual  turns  he  finds  himself  crushed, 
scoffed  at,  sacrificed  to  insatiable,  hostile  gods. 

A  few  years  ago  Maeterlinck  wrote :  "  Up  to  the 
present  men  have  left  one  religion  to  enter  another ; 
but  when  we  abandon  ours,  it  is  not  to  go  anywhere. 
That  is  a  new  phenomenon,  with  unknown  conse- 
quences, in  the  midst  of  which  we  live." 

Having  quoted  these  words,  I  hasten  to  add  that 


POVERTY  AND  RICHES  23 

the  war  is  no  particular  consequence  of  this  moral 
state  of  the  world.  The  question  of  religion  is 
not  involved  at  all.  The  priests  are  quite  ready  to 
abuse  these  easy  oppositions  in  order  to  obtain  argu- 
ments in  favor  of  their  cause.  But  they  know  well 
enough,  alas !  that  if  the  teaching  of  Christ  stigma- 
tizes wars,  the  religions  have  only  contributed  to 
multiply  and  aggravate  them.  They  know  very  well 
that,  in  the  conflict  that  now  divides  the  earth,  the 
religions  have  shown  themselves  enslaved  to  the 
states.  No  one  has  wished  to  take  up  the  wallet  and 
staff  of  the  dead  Tolstoy. 

Humanity  seems  poorer  and  more  truly  disinher- 
ited than  ever.  Its  kingdom  is  in  itself  and  in 
everything  that  surrounds  it;  but  it  has  sold  it  for 
a  morsel  of  bread.  And  how  can  one  reproach  it  for 
this  ?  It  is  very  hungry  and  its  heart  is  not  open  to 

beauty. 

II 

We  shall  seek  together  the  materials  of  our  happi- 
ness. Together  we  shall  pile  up  all  those  marvelous 
little  things  that  must  constitute  our  patrimony,  our 
wealth. 

We  shall  have  great  misfortunes  and  we  shall  often 
be  bitterly  deceived.  It  is  because  the  war  has  suc- 
ceeded in  depriving  the  simplest  and  the  most  sacred 
things  of  the  light  of  eternity.  That  is  not  the  least 
consequence  of  the  catastrophe.  We  must  make  a 


24  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

painful  effort  to  recover  that  light  and  clear  it  of  its 
blemishes.  Silence,  solitude,  the  sky,  the  vestiture  of 
the  earth,  all  the  riches  of  the  poor  have  been  sullied 
as  if  forever.  The  works  of  art  have  been  mutilated. 
They  have  taken  refuge  under  the  earth  where  they 
seem  to  veil  their  faces. 

We  ought  to  seek  and  gather  together  the  debris 
so  that  we  can  take  up  and  love  in  secret  every  day 
the  fragments  of  our  liberties. 

We  ought  to  think  unceasingly  of  that  "  mean 
landscape  "  of  which  Charles  Vildrac  has  spoken  in 
one  of  his  most  beautiful  poems.  It  is  an  unfruitful 
landscape,  despoiled,  denatured  by  the  sad  labor  of 
men,  and  apparently  worn  out ;  — 

But  even  so  you  found,  if  you  sought  there, 

One  happy  spot  where  the  grass  grew  rich, 

Even  so  you  heard,  if  you  listened, 

The  whisper  of  leaves 

And  the  birds  pursuing  one  another. 

And  if  you  had  enough  love, 
You  could  even  ask  of  the  wind 
Perfumes  and  music  .  .  . 

We  shall  have  enough  love!  That  shall  be  the 
principle  and  source  of  our  wealth. 

And  so  we  shall  not  have  a  whole  life  of  poverty. 
When  love,  that  is  to  say,  grace,  abandons  us,  we 
shall  perhaps  know  hours  of  poverty.  That  will  help 
us  all  the  better  to  understand  our  hours  of  opulence, 
and  all  the  better  cherish  them. 


POVERTY  AND  RICHES  25 

III 

If  you  wish,  we  can  divide  our  task,  enumerate  the 
coffers  in  which  we  are  to  pile  our  treasures. 

First  of  all,  let  us  stop  over  a  word.  We  have 
said:  to  possess  is  to  know.  The  definition  may 
seem  to  you  arbitrary.  On  the  chance  of  this  I  open 
my  little  pocket  dictionary,  which  is  the  whole  library 
I  have  as  a  soldier,  and  read :  "  To  possess :  to  have 
for  oneself,  in  one's  power,  to  know  to  the  bottom." 
Let  us  accept  that.  We  shall  see,  page  by  page,  if 
it  is  possible  for  us  to  satisfy  these  naive,  direct  defi- 
nitions. 

What  is  most  certain  to  attract  our  glance,  when 
we  look  about  us,  is  the  world  of  men,  our  fellow- 
creatures.  Their  figures  are  certainly  the  most  af- 
fecting spectacle  that  can  be  offered  us.  Their  acts 
undoubtedly  constitute,  owing  to  a  natural  inclina- 
tion and  an  indestructible  solidarity,  the  chief  object 
of  our  curiosity.  Good!  We  shall  possess  them 
first  of  all.  We  shall  possess  this  inexhaustible  fund 
of  other  people. 

We  shall  feel  no  shame  then  in  contemplating,  with 
a  noble  desire,  whatever  strikes  our  senses,  the  ani- 
mals, that  is  to  say,  the  plants,  the  material  universe 
of  stones  and  waters,  the  sky  and  even  the  populous 
stars.  These,  too,  ought  to  be  well  worth  posses- 
sing! 


26  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

Already  our  wealth  seems  immense.  Our  ambition 
is  still  greater:  we  must  possess  our  dreams.  But 
have  not  illustrious  men  made  more  beautiful  dreams 
than  ours?  Yes,  and  these  men  are  called  Shake- 
speare, Dante,  Rembrandt,  Goethe,  Hugo,  Rodin ; 
there  are  a  hundred  of  them,  even  more;  their  works 
form  the  royal  crown  of  humanity.  We  shall  possess 
that  crown.  It  is  for  us  it  was  forged,  for  us  it  was 
bejewelled  with  immortal  joys. 

It  would  be  vain  to  extend  our  possession  only  into 
space.  It  overruns  time :  we  possess  the  past,  that  is 
to  say,  our  memories,  and  the  future  in  our  hopes. 

And  then  we  also  possess,  and  in  the  strictest  sense 
of  all,  our  sorrows,  our  griefs,  our  despair,  if  that 
supreme  and  terrible  treasure  is  reserved  for  us. 

Finally,  there  will  be  times  when  we  possess  noth- 
ing but  an  idea,  but  this  may  perhaps  be  the  idea  of 
the  absolute  or  the  infinite.  If  it  is  given  us  to  pos- 
sess God,  then,  no  doubt,  nothing  else  will  be  neces- 
sary to  us. 

Every  time  that  we  possess  the  world  purely  we 
shall  find  that  we  have  touched  an  almost  unhoped  for 
happiness,  for  it  is  always  being  offered  to  us  and 
we  do  not  think  of  it :  we  shall  possess  ourselves. 

We  shall  share  all  our  riches  with  our  companions : 
that  shall  be  our  apostolate.  And  we  shall  manage 
in  some  way  to  resist  the  seductions  or  the  commands 
of  a  society  that  is  going  to  ruin,  a  society  that  is 


POVERTY  AND  RICHES  87 

even  more  unhappy  and  abused  than  corrupt.  If,  in 
consequence,  we  are  permitted  to  glimpse,  even  if  only 
for  the  space  of  a  minute,  a  little  more  happiness 
about  us,  a  little  more  happiness  than  there  is  at 
present,  we  shall  at  last  be  so  happy  as  to  accept 
death  with  joy. 

IV 

The  greatest  of  all  joys  is  to  give  happiness,  and 
those  who  do  not  know  it  have  everything  to  learn 
about  life.  The  annals  of  humanity  abound  with 
illustrious  deeds  aptly  proving  that  generosity  en- 
riches first  of  all  those  who  practise  it. 

Not  to  mention  any  celebrated  instance,  I  shall  tell 
you  one  simple  little  tale.  It  is  of  the  truth  I  live  on, 
my  daily  bread. 

Just  now,  not  far  from  me,  there  is  a  young 
English  soldier  from  the  neighborhood  of  York  who  is 
so  severely  wounded  in  the  lower  part  of  the  stomach 
that  the  natural  functions  of  the  body  have  been 
completely  upset  and  he  has  been  reduced  to  a  state 
of  terrible  suffering. 

And  yet,  when  I  went  to  see  him  this  morning,  this 
boy  gave  me  an  extraordinary  smile,  his  very  first,  a 
smile  full  of  delicacy  and  hope,  a  smile  of  resurrec- 
tion. 

Presently  I  learned  the  cause  of  this  great  joy. 
The  dying  man  pulled  from  under  his  pillow  a 


28  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

cigarette  he  had  hidden  there,  which  he  had  secretly 
saved  for  me  and  now  gave  me. 


There  are  many  who  preach  an  unpretentious  life 
and  the  sweetness  of  possessing  a  little  garden.  The 
most  magnificent  of  gardens  is  insignificant  compared 
with  this  world  in  which  nothing  is  refused  us.  Ac- 
cepting the  little  garden  we  should  have  the  air  of 
those  dispossessed  kings  who  lose  an  empire  to  be 
ironically  dowered  with  a  small  island. 

If  we  find  it  pleasant  to  employ  our  muscles  in  dig- 
ging the  earth,  there  are  a  thousand  spots  where  we 
can  easily  practise  this  wholesome  and  fruitful  exer- 
cise. But  we  shall  never  really  possess  a  single  clod 
of  earth  because  a  legal  deed  has  declared  that  it 
belongs  exclusively  to  us.  The  world  itself!  Our 
love  demands  the  whole  world ;  the  rocks,  the  clouds, 
the  great  trees  along  the  highway,  the  darting  flight 
of  birds,  receding  into  the  evening,  the  rustling  ver- 
dure high  above  that  wall  that  vainly  strives  to  shut 
in  the  private  property  of  someone  else,  the  shining 
glory  of  those  flowers  we  glimpse  through  the  iron 
railings  of  a  park,  and  even  that  very  wall  and  rail- 
ing themselves. 

According  to  the  stretch  of  our  wings,  the  scope  of 
our  desires,  we  shall  possess  whatever  our  hands  touch 
with  ardor  and  respect,  whatever  delights  our  eyes 


POVERTY  AND  RICHES  29 

from  the  summits  of  mountains,  whatever  our 
thoughts  bring  back  from  their  travels  through  legen- 
dary lands. 

To  possess  the  world  is  purely  a  question  of  the 
intensity  of  our  understanding  of  it.  One  does  not 
possess  things  on  their  surfaces  but  in  their  depths ; 
but  the  spirit  alone  can  penetrate  into  the  depths, 
and  for  the  spirit  there  is  no  barrier. 

Many  men  to  whom  the  law  allows  the  gross,  official 
possession  of  a  statue,  a  gem,  a  beautiful  horse  or  a 
province  wear  themselves  out  fulfilling  a  role  to  which 
no  human  being  has  received  a  call.  Every  moment 
they  perceive  with  bitterness  that  men  who  have  no 
legal  title  whatever  to  these  material  goods  draw 
from  them  a  delight  that  is  superior  to  the  enjoyment 
they  themselves  get  from  them  as  absolute  owners. 
They  often  find,  in  this  way,  that  a  friend  appreciates 
their  beautiful  pictures  better  fhan  they  do,  that  a 
groom  is  a  better  judge  of  their  own  stables,  that  a 
passer-by  draws  out  of  "  their  landscape  "  a  purer 
joy  than  theirs  and  more  original  ideas.  They  take 
their  revenge  by  obstinately  confusing  the  usage  of  a 
thing  with  its  possession. 

Jesus  said  that  the  rich  man  renounced  the  king- 
dom of  God.  He  renounces  many  other  things  as 
well.  For  if  he  shuts  himself  up  within  his  proud 
walls,  he  abandons  the  marvelous  universe  for  a  small 
fragment  of  it ;  and  if  he  is  actually  curious  about 


30  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

the  universe,  if  he  appreciates  its  significance,  how 
can  he  consent  without  guilt  to  hide  a  portion  of  it 
away  from  the  contemplation  of  others? 

In  order  to  express  the  gross  and  exclusive  posses- 
sion of  things  society  has  invented  various  words  and 
phrases  that  betray  the  weak  efforts  of  men  to  appro- 
priate for  themselves,  in  spite  of  everything,  in  spite 
of  the  laws  of  love,  the  riches  that  remain  the  prerog- 
ative of  all.  They  speak,  for  example,  of  "  dispos- 
ing of  a  piece  of  property,"  which  means  having  it 
subject  to  our  pleasure,  being  able  to  do  as  we  choose 
with  it.  The  sacrilegious  vanity  of  this  view  of  the 
world  gives  the  possessor,  as  his  supreme  right,  the 
power  to  destroy  his  own  treasure.  He  could  not, 
indeed,  have  a  greater  right  than  that.  But  what 
sort  of  desperate  possession  is  it,  I  ask,  that  considers 
the  destruction  of  the  object  possessed  as  the  supreme 
manifestation  of  power? 

The  world  has  long  known  and  still  knows  slavery. 
Lords  and  masters  claimed  the  extravagant  right  of 
disposing  of  other  human  beings.  They  all  insisted, 
as  a  mark  of  authority,  on  their  right  of  dealing 
death  to  their  slaves.  But  truly,  what  was  the  power 
of  these  despots  compared  with  the  deep,  sensitive, 
voluntary  bond  that  united  Plato  to  Socrates,  or 
John  to  Christ? 

Epictetus  suffered  at  the  hands  of  Epaphroditus. 
For  all  that,  Epaphroditus  was  not  able  to  prevent 


POVERTY  AND  RICHES  31 

his  slave  from  reigning,  through  his  thought,  over 
the  centuries.  Epaphroditus'  right  of  possession 
seems  to  us  ridiculous  and  shameful.  Who  can  fairly 
envy  him  when  so  many  centuries  have  passed  judg- 
ment on  him? 

VI 

Every  philosophy  has  given  magnificent  expression 
to  these  immortal  truths.  What  can  we  add  to  the 
words  of  Epictetus,  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  of  Christ  in 
regard  to  the  vanity  of  those  riches  which  alone 
society  admits  to  be  of  value? 

But  the  poets  have  said  to  us,  "  Do  not  abandon 
the  world,  for  it  abounds  in  pure  and  truly  divine 
joys  that  will  be  lost  if  you  do  not  harvest  them !  " 

The  road  that  ought  to  be  sweet  for  us  to  follow 
crosses  now  that  of  the  Christians,  now  that  of  the 
Stoics.  We  may  stop  now  at  the  Garden  of  Olives, 
now  at  the  threshold  of  that  small  house  without  a 
door,  without  furnishings,  where  the  master  of  Arrien 
used  to  live. 

Our  road  will  lead  us  even  more  often  through  wild, 
solitary  places,  or  to  the  pillow  of  some  man  who 
sleeps  in  the  earth,  or  to  the  smiling  dwelling  of  some 
humble  friend,  or  again  into  the  melodious  shadow 
where  the  souls  of  Beethoven  and  Johann  Sebastian 
Bach  forever  dwell. 

We  shall  not  struggle  with  the  mass  of  deluded  man 


32  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

to  possess  the  known,  so  long  as  the  unknown  remains 
without  a  master.  We  shall  give  up  crude  material 
possession  in  order  to  dream  all  the  better  of  spiritual 
possession. 

No,  we  cannot  any  longer  renounce  our  kingdom 
when  it  calls  to  us,  when  for  us  it  sings,  hosanna ! 

And  those  of  us  who  already  have  their  place  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  must  not  hesitate  to  demand  their 
share  of  this  world  also ;  for  the  world  has  been  given 
to  all  men  so  that  each  man,  with  the  help  of  all  the 
rest,  may  possess  the  whole  of  it. 


Ill 

THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS 


IN  the  exile  of  the  war  I  have  fifteen  comrades,  and 
we  live  side  by  side  like  seamen  on  the  deck  of  a 
ship.  Everything  brings  us  together:  work,  sleep, 
play,  food  and  danger.  Even  our  quarrels  reunite 
us,  for,  in  order  to  quarrel  well,  you  have  to  know 
your  man :  between  strangers  disputes  have  little 
savor. 

I  never  chose  these  men  for  my  companions,  as  I 
once  thought  I  had  a  right  to  do.  They  have  been 
given  to  me  like  a  handful  of  fruit  of  which  some  is 
juicy  and  some  green.  They  have  been  taken  at  ran- 
dom, as  if  by  a  drag  of  that  net  which  respects  noth- 
ing, from  the  swarming  species  of  man.  Thanks, 
therefore,  to  the  blind  and  divine  world  which  has 
thrown  the  net  into  the  flood ! 

They  are  my  treasure,  my  study,  and  my  daily 
task.  They  are  my  purpose,  my  horizon,  my  tor- 
ment, and  my  recompense. 

Although  far  from  my  own  people,  far  from  those 
*  83 


34.  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

with  whom  I  have  carried  on  my  life,  I  could  not  feel 
myself  destitute,  abandoned ;  the  world  is  not  empty 
for  me  since  I  have  these  fifteen  men  to  manage,  this 
cherished  problem  to  ponder,  this  soil  to  work  over, 
this  vintage  for  the  winepress. 

I  accept  the  gift,  the  restless  opulence,  the  fifteen 
glances  that  open  on  fifteen  different  heavens  where 
there  shine  neither  the  same  seasons  nor  the  same 
stars,  those  fifteen  proud,  vindictive  souls  whom  I 
must  win  over  and  subdue  like  wild  horses. 

To  be  sure,  a  few  of  these  men  are  frank,  level  in 
temperament,  as  plain  to  the  eye  as  a  smooth  pebble 
on  the  beach ;  one  touches  them,  holds  them,  grasps 
them  in  a  moment  like  a  big  piece  of  silver  in  the  hol- 
low of  the  hand.  But  so  many  others  are  change- 
able, furtive,  so  many  others  are  rough  like  ore  in 
which  only  the  fissures  glisten  and  betray  the  inner 
nobility. 

The  more  unresponsive  and  secretive  they  seem, 
without  any  obvious  beauty,  the  more  resolved  I  find 
I  am  to  look  upon  them  as  a  treasure,  to  search 
through  them  as  if  they  were  a  soil  that  is  full  of 
wealth. 

There  are  some  of  them  that  I  love,  there  are  some 
whom  I  think  that  I  do  not  love.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter! The  interest  I  devote  to  them  is  not  in  the 
least  dependent  on  the  throbs  of  my  heart.  That  one 
who  never  speaks  and  conceals,  under  his  obstinate 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         35 

forehead,  two  little  eyes  of  green  glass, —  certainly 
he  does  not  naturally  arouse  my  affection.  Never- 
theless, how  different  is  the  attention  with  which  I 
regard  him  from  the  curiosity  of  a  scientist  watching 
the  stirrings  of  fish  in  an  aquarium !  It  makes  me 
think,  that  attention,  rather  of  the  dizzy  joy  of  the 
miser  who  weighs  a  gold-piece,  the  effigy  on  which 
does  n't  please  him.  Gold,  nevertheless ! 

True!  How  could  I  feel  bored  with  these  faces 
turned  toward  me,  with  this  choir  of  human  voices 
singing,  each  in  its  own  familiar  key,  yet  blending 
into  the  masculine  clamor  of  an  orchestra? 

Everything  they  say  is  precious ;  less  so,  however, 
than  what  they  keep  to  themselves.  The  reasons 
they  give  for  their  actions  astonish  me  at  times ;  those 
they  do  not  confess,  especially  those  of  which  they 
themselves  are  ignorant,  always  fill  me  with  passion- 
ate interest.  A  word,  fallen  from  their  lips  like  a 
piece  of  paper  from  an  unknown  pocket,  arrests  me 
and  sets  me  dreaming  for  long  days.  About  them  I 
build  up  daring  and  yet  fragile  hypotheses  which 
they  either  obligingly  support  or  destroy  with  a  care- 
less gesture.  I  always  begin  again,  delighting  in  it ; 
it  is  my  recreation.  I  enjoy  finding  that  my  hy- 
potheses are  right,  for  that  satisfies  my  pride;  I 
enjoy  finding  I  am  wrong,  for  that  reveals  to  me  leafy 
depths  in  my  park  that  are  still  unexplored. 

And  then  I  know  that  only  a  small  part  of  their 


36  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

nature  is  involved  in  our  intercourse.  The  rest 
branches  off,  ramifies  out  into  the  perspectives  of  the 
world.  I  think  of  it  as  of  that  side  of  the  moon 
which  men  will  never  see.  I  reconstruct  with  a  pious, 
a  burning  patience  that  life  of  theirs  which  is  outside 
this,  their  true  life,  endlessly  complicated,  linked  by  a 
thousand  tentacles  with  a  thousand  other  unknown 
lives.  So  must  Cuvier's  mind  have  wandered  as  he 
turned  and  returned  a  fossil  tooth,  the  only  vestige  of 
some  vast,  unknown  organism. 

There  is  all  this  in  people,  and  then  there  is  the 
past  that  each  one  has,  his  own  past,  his  ancestors, 
the  prodigious  combination  of  actions  and  of  souls  of 
which  he  is  the  result  And  there  is  his  future,  the 
unexplored  desert  toward  which  he  stretches  out 
anxious  tentacles,  and  into  which  I  dare  to  venture, 
I,  the  stranger,  with  trembling  heart,  the  tiny  lantern 
in  my  hand. 

These  are  my  riches  today.  They  are  inalienable : 
a  man  may  flee  from  an  indiscretion,  he  cannot  escape 
the  grip  of  contemplation  and  love.  Even  if  he  de- 
sired it,  his  very  struggles  would  reveal  his  move- 
ments, betray  the  deepest  secrets  of  his  being,  deliver 
him  over  bound  hand  and  foot. 

As  for  myself,  eager  to  hoard  up  my  treasure,  I 
give  myself  up  without  a  struggle.  Rich  in  others,  I 
yield  myself  into  their  hands.  And  if,  in  spite  of 
myself,  I  attempt  some  evasion,  am  I  not  sure  to 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         37 

render  the  prey  all  the  more  desirable,  all  the  more 
beautiful  ? 

II 

They  say  of  curiosity  that  it  was  the  beginning  of 
science.  That  is  not  praise  enough,  it  sounds  rather 
like  an  excuse. 

What  is  more  human,  more  touching  than  this  re- 
ligious reaching  out  toward  the  unknown,  this  sort  of 
instinct  which  makes  us  divine  and  attack  the  mys- 
tery ? 

To  take  pride  in  not  being  curious !  One  might  as 
well  take  pride  in  some  ridiculous  infirmity.  It  is 
true  that  even  that  is  in  the  order  of  things  normal, 
and  that  vanity  finds  its  nourishment  where  it  can. 

Doubtless  there  is  a  sort  of  curiosity  which  is  both 
weak  and  cowardly.  It  is  that  of  men  who  dare  not 
remain  alone  a  moment  face  to  face  with  themselves ; 
they  take  refuge  in  loquacity  and  in  reading  the 
daily  newspapers.  Their  fashion  of  interesting 
themselves  in  everything  that  goes  on  is  a  confession 
that  they  are  unable  to  become  interested  in  any- 
thing eternal.  They  depend  as  if  for  nourishment  on 
that  noise  which  those  who  have  nothing  to  say  arc 
always  making.  They  are  like  children  who  cannot 
amuse  themselves  alone,  or  like  stupid  monarchs  who 
fear  nothing  so  much  as  silence  and  their  own 
thoughts,  the  emptiness  of  their  own  thoughts ! 


38  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

And  then  there  are  the  easy-going  people.  They 
want  to  know  everything,  the  number  of  your  mater- 
nal aunt's  children,  the  price  of  the  furniture  and 
the  wages  of  the  servants.  They  want  to  know 
everything  and  they  will  never  know  anything. 
Their  life  is  spent  in  forced  smiles  and  in  gracefully 
holding  a  cup  of  tea. 

Their  souls  contain  vast  lists  of  names,  dates  and 
other  miserable  things.  They  go  through  life  like 
beasts  of  burden,  weighed  down  under  loads  that  have 
no  value. 

There  are  maniacs,  too,  perverts,  freaks,  people 
that  are  full  of  curiosity  about  a  postage  stamp,  the 
handle  of  an  umbrella;  but  of  these  I  dare  not  say 
anything,  for  I  remember  an  old  and  very  wise  mas- 
ter who  used  to  say  to  us  with  a  smile :  "  You  who 
are  entering  upon  scientific  careers  must  begin  right 
away  to  think  about  collections,  even  if  you  have  to 
collect  boxes  of  matches." 

To  tell  the  truth,  is  it  our  business  to  be  wise,  to  be 
learned?  Hardly!  It  is  our  business  to  be  rich. 

Well,  then,  there  are  not  two  kinds  of  curiosity. 
Let  us  leave  out  of  the  question  all  those  dull  stupidi- 
ties we  dare  to  call  by  this  name. 

The  curious  man  seems  strangely  uninterested  in 
that  which  excites  the  loquacity  of  trivial  souls.  He 
does  not  trouble  himself  to  find  out  the  year  in  which 
a  house  was  built,  or  the  honors  accorded  to  the  arch- 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         39 

itect ;  he  dreams  in  secret  of  the  tastes,  the  passions 
of  the  man  who  had  that  little,  low  window  pierced 
on  the  north  side  and  that  black  tree  with  its  twisted 
branches  planted  at  the  edge  of  the  pond.  He  does 
not  ask  a  young  woman  the  name  of  her  dressmaker, 
but  trembles  at  the  thought  of  understanding  what 
made  her  choose  that  disturbing  dress  to  wear  this 
particular  day.  He  does  not  question  his  mistress 
about  her  opinion  of  him,  but  seeks  passionately  to 
understand  the  opinion  he  has  at  this  moment  of  her. 
He  does  not  hasten  to  ask  his  travelling  companions 
about  their  professions  and  the  political  opinions 
they  uphold,  because,  as  he  watches  their  faces,  he  is 
studying  discreetly  and  sympathetically  the  meaning 
of  the  little  wrinkle  that  moves  between  their  brows, 
or  the  significance  of  a  glance,  its  source  and  its 
object.  He  does  not  solicit  confidences,  he  receives 
them  almost  without  wishing  to ;  they  come  naturally 
to  him ;  he  is  their  sure  and  deep  receptacle. 

Curious  about  all  this  vast  world,  he  seems 
especially  concerned  with  its  image  in  himself.  He 
bears  his  curiosity  like  a  sacred  gift  and  exercises  it, 
or  rather  honors  it,  as  one  would  perform  the  rites  of 
a  cult. 

Do  not  say  you  would  not  wish  to  be  that  man. 
You  who  feel  pride  in  possessing  yourself  of  a  secret, 
in  drawing  out  a  confession,  in  meriting  the  confi- 
dence of  another  man,  must  realize  that  it  is  a  mar- 


40  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

velous  fortune  to  be  thus  the  tenderly  imperious  con- 
fidant who  cannot  be  denied,  though  often  the  rest  of 
the  world  knows  nothing  of  it.  And  it  is  possible  for 
you,  even  if  you  cannot  become  such  a  man  at  once, 
at  least  to  labor  to  become  one.  Begin,  with  this  in 
view,  to  deliver  yourself  from  your  little  servile  curi- 
osities. Let  us  work  together  for  this  future.  Let 
us  enter  so  deeply  into  ourselves  that  people  will  say 
of  us,  "  That  man  is  not  curious  about  anything." 
From  that  moment  we  shall  have  begun  to  chant  the 
hymn  of  the  great,  the  divine  curiosity. 

Ill 

The  possession  of  others  is  a  passion,  that  is  to 
say,  it  is  an  ordeal,  a  painful  effort.  This  supreme 
joy,  like  all  the  joys  to  which  we  attach  value,  is  born 
out  of  suffering. 

We  must  experience  men  in  order  to  know  them, 
and  our  neighbor  for  whom,  or  through  whom,  we 
have  never  had  to  endure  any  anguish,  has  surprises 
in  store  for  us,  or  else  escapes  us  altogether:  that  is 
almost  a  truism. 

Like  all  others,  this  treasure  cannot  be  acquired 
without  effort,  without  bitterness ;  but  it  knows  no 
decay,  it  never  ceases  to  grow  through  the  mere  play 
of  the  forces  of  our  life  and  seems  as  if  sheltered  from 
the  blows  of  fate.  It  does  not,  like  money,  depreci- 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         41 

ate  in  value  or  serve  ignoble  ends.  It  only  returns  to 
oblivion. 

It  is  not  strictly  personal.  It  can  be  shared  and 
bequeathed.  Since  it  escapes  destruction  and  death, 
it  can  become  the  most  precious  of  heritages ;  it  has 
this  superiority  over  money,  that  its  transmission  is 
really  valid  only  after  it  has  been  in  some  sort  of 
way  reconquered.  It  must  fall  into  worthy  hands 
that  will  know  how  to  work  to  preserve,  cultivate  and 
build  it  up  again.  In  certain  points  it  resembles 
what  we  call  experience. 

To  suffer,  first  of  all!  That  is  surely  one  of  the 
grandeurs  of  our  race,  and  we  truly  love  our  bless- 
ings for  what  they  have  cost  us  in  tears,  in  sweat,  in 
blood. 

It  is  repugnant  to  the  spirit  to  admit  that  any- 
thing can  be  a  blessing  which  the  war  has  given. 
The  desperate  folly  of  the  Western  world  has  engen- 
dered and  still  holds  in  reserve  such  great  misfortunes 
that  we  cannot  ransack  all  these  ruins,  these  heaps  of 
bones,  with  any  hope  of  extracting  from  them,  as 
ragpickers  do  with  their  hooks,  some  fragment  that 
is  good,  some  useful  bit  of  waste.  No!  There  is 
no  excuse  for  this  ferocious,  immeasurable  stupidity. 
And  yet,  men  have  suffered  so  terribly  from  one 
another  that  they  have  learned  to  know  one  another, 
that  is  to  say,  to  possess  one  another  mutually.  In 


43  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

spite  of  my  own  denials,  let  me  save  this  bit  of  wreck- 
age from  the  general  disaster.  That  is  indeed  one 
blessing  so  dearly  bought  that  we  shall  not  willingly 
give  it  up.  And  I  do  not  speak  here  only  of  those 
who  have  fought  against  each  other ;  I  speak  also  of 
those  who  have  fought  side  by  side,  who  have  shed 
their  blood  for  the  same  cause  and  under  the  same 
standards. 

Companions  have  been  given  us,  imposed  upon  us, 
association  with  whom,  even  when  casual  and  transi- 
tory, would  once  have  seemed  impossible  to  us.  Liv- 
ing as  free  men,  we  sought  to  control  the  inevitable  as 
far  as  possible,  to  choose  our  own  road  and  avoid 
those  whose  opinions  or  points  of  view  about  the  uni- 
verse were  likely  to  offend  our  own.  We  thus  made 
use  of  that  liberty  for  the  most  part  in  order  to 
humor  our  irritable  feelings,  to  lull  our  souls  to  sleep 
in  a  precarious  security,  and  restrict  the  area  of  our 
inward  activity. 

Then  came  the  war  and  we  had  not  only  to  suffer 
from  the  enemy,  to  endure  unforeseen  attacks  in 
regions  of  ourselves  that  we  considered  invulnerable, 
but  to  suffer  still  more  from  our  own  messmates, 
from  those  who  commanded  us  and  especially  those 
whom  we  commanded. 

Could  it  have  been  otherwise?  No!  No!  If 
that  suffering  had  been  spared  us,  we  should  not 
have  been  men,  we  should  not  have  gone  to  war,  we 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         43 

should  not  have  been  those  divine  animals  whom  it  is 
so  beautiful  and  so  shameful  to  be  and  whom  we  can- 
not help  being. 

We  have  been  told  that  all  suffering  is  sterile,  hope- 
less and  without  redemptive  power.  That  it  only 
serves  to  nourish  hatred.  But  how  marvelous  it  is 
when  it  engenders  understanding,  that  is  to  say,  pos- 
session, that  is  to  say,  love! 

I  have  observed  that  for  many  men,  except  in 
actual  bodily  encounter,  combat  face  to  face,  the 
eaemy  has  lost  all  individual  or  specific  character  and 
has  become  almost  confounded  with  the  great  hostile 
forces  of  nature:  lightning,  fire,  tidal  waves.  The 
bullet  coming  from  so  far  away,  the  shell  hurled  from 
beyond  the  horizon,  all  Chese  mortal  powers  are  sim- 
ply like  a  form  of  blind  destiny.  In  spite  of  daily 
lessons  in  hatred,  in  spite  of  vociferations,  these  men 
die  courageously,  with  a  resigned  despair,  without 
hatred. 

But  with  other,  less  noble  souls,  the  tendency  to 
aversion  and  quarreling,  thus  turned  back  from  the 
enemy,  seeks  its  objects  in  their  immediate  surround- 
ings and  finds  them,  creates  them,  alas ! 

My  comrades,  my  comrades,  if  the  uncertainty  of 
your  spirit,  your  agony,  the  rebelliousness  of  your 
afflicted  flesh  urges  you  to  seek  those  who  are  respon- 
sible, do  not  look  too  angrily  upon  those  who  are 
about  you,  do  not,  in  your  aberration,  accuse  Hou- 


44  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

telette  because  he  is  a  chatterbox,  Exmelin  because 
he  is  an  egoist,  or  Bleche  because  he  is  a  rude,  morose 
commander.  Do  not  place  your  misery  to  the  ac- 
count of  Mcry,  who  is  so  slow  in  obeying,  and  be 
willing  to  admit  that  Maurin  is  not  to  blame  for 
everything  because  his  opinions  are  not  the  same  as 
yours.  At  least,  if  you  must  draw  your  circle  of  ani- 
mosity, make  it  so  close  about  you  that  it  contains 
only  yourselves,  and  seek  first  of  all  in  yourselves  the 
causes  of  your  unhappiness. 

Better  still,  apply  yourselves  to  looking  your  suf- 
fering in  the  face,  putting  it,  with  insight  and  pre- 
cision, to  the  proof. 

You  know  that  a  loathsome  drink  almost  ceases  to 
be  loathsome  when  you  drink  it  without  haste  but 
with  a  desire  to  appreciate  the  precise  quality  of  its 
bitterness.  Exactly  in  this  same  manner  you  should 
endeavor  to  measure,  to  study  your  suffering.  In- 
stead of  abhorring  it,  try  in  a  way  to  understand  it ; 
it  will  become  interesting,  curious,  I  dare  not  say 
lovable. 

If  Mery  carries  out  your  orders  badly,  consider 
systematically  how  he  can  be  made  to  become,  in  spite 
of  himself,  a  really  good  servant.  If  Bleche  exer- 
cises his  authority  in  a  way  that  incessantly  wounds 
you,  interest  yourself  in  his  brutality,  try  to  analyze 
his  movements,  his  expressions,  his  familiar  habits, 
and  you  will  then  be  in  a  better  position,  not  to 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         45 

escape  from  him  indeed,  but  to  avoid  at  times  the 
sting,  the  cut  of  his  peremptoriness.  You  will  make 
him  restless  by  doing  this,  and  you  will  set  him  think- 
ing. It  is  not  necessary  for  him  to  fear  you,  it  is 
enough  for  him  to  recognize  in  you  a  free  force  with 
which  he  has  to  reckon,  a  force  it  is  wise  to  pro- 
pitiate. Meanwhile,  to  use  a  colloquialism,  "  you've 
got  him."  Every  time  you  have  obliged  him  to  be 
less  arrogant,  more  just  with  you,  you  can  say  that 
you  have  "  had  "  him,  as  the  soldiers  so  admirably 
put  it. 

This  possession  costs  a  certain  amount  of  work. 
But  you  are  willing  to  toil  eight  hours  in  order  to 
earn  ten  francs  that  do  not  remain  for  a  single  day 
between  your  fingers ;  you  can  certainly  afford  a 
few  minutes  of  your  effort  and  your  soul  to  acquire  a 
treasure  of  which  nothing  will  ever  be  able  to  deprive 
you. 

IV 

The  very  rich  man  owns  several  estates.  There  is 
always  one  that  he  prefers,  that  he  frequents  and 
cultivates  by  choice.  There  are  others  where  he  goes 
only  from  time  to  time,  at  the  solicitation  of  some 
state  of  his  soul  which  inclines  him  to  seek,  for  a 
period,  the  mountains,  or  the  ocean,  or  the  open 
country.  There  are  some,  finally,  which  he  does  not 
love  at  all  but  of  which,  nevertheless,  he  will  not 


46  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

dispossess  himself  because  they  are  part  of  his  fol- 
tune. 

It  is  so  with  you  who  possess  a  family,  friends, 
comrades,  and  adversaries.  It  is  so  with  you  who 
are  able  to  draw,  without  let  or  hindrance,  from  the 
immense  well  of  humankind.  You  must  refuse  noth- 
ing; you  must  accept  everything,  find  out  the  value 
of  everything,  store  everything  away.  The  world  of 
men  is  a  rich  patrimony,  the  exploitation  of  which 
is  expressly  confided  to  you.  You  must  not  be  a 
bad  administrator,  you  must  make  all  your  land 
bring  forth  its  fruit. 

Choose  every  day  what  is  necessary  to  you,  for 
you  are  the  master. 

You  must  know,  besides,  how  to  accept  the  in- 
evitable and  take  chances,  for  you  are  nothing  but  a 
man. 

Construct  a  scale,  a  clear,  harmonious  keyboard. 
Like  an  organist  you  must  know  the  right  moment  to 
pull  the  stop  of  the  oboe  and  unloose  the  thunder 
of  the  bass.  The  pipes  are  not  at  fault:  it  is  for 
you  to  become  a  good  musician.  The  face  of  Guil- 
laumin  suits  you  in  the  morning,  and  his  ideas  re- 
juvenate you  like  fresh  water.  The  eloquence  of 
Maurin  is  like  a  tonic  in  your  hours  of  recreation. 
But  there  are  desolate  evenings  when  what  you  un- 
doubtedly need  is  the  deep  voice  of  Cauchois  and  his 
affectionate  silence. 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         47 


In  'spite  of  the  legendary  ages,  in  spite  of  the  re- 
ligions, in  spite  of  the  poets,  in  spite  of  the  mar- 
velous traditions  and,  above  all,  in  spite  of  our  own 
deepest  aspirations,  we  must  unquestionably  abandon 
the  hope  of  an  occult  correspondence  between  souls. 

It  is  a  renunciation  that  it  is  hard  to  admit. 
Every  day  events  envelop  us  that  seem  to  revive  the 
vanished  perfume  of  mystery.  Our  reason  is  in  no 
haste  to  dissipate  these  clouds,  to  pierce  these  ap- 
pearances :  too  well  they  soothe  the  irritating  need  of 
not  being  quite  solitary  in  the  interior  of  ourselves, 
of  not  being  quite  exiles  in  an  inaccessible  desert. 

That  nothing  outside  our  senses  can  reveal  to  us 
the  proximity  of  a  beloved  person,  the  danger  that 
is  approaching  him,  the  death  that  is  coming  to 
clasp  him,  is  an  extremity  to  which  we  find  our- 
selves reduced  without  ever  submissively  making  up 
our  minds  to  it. 

A  few  courageous  men  have  halted  before  this 
mountain  and  undertaken  to  lift  it.  Let  us  leave 
them  toiling  in  the  shadow ;  let  us  aid  them,  if  not 
by  our  effort,  at  least  by  our  silence,  and  wait. 

Let  us  wait,  but  let  us  not  cease  to  go  forth  to 
other  battles.  The  unlnnwn  never  fails  us.  And 
as  for  what  we  shall  choose,  there  is  so  much  in  the 
unknown  to  allure  us,  to  enchant  us !  If  we  give  up 


48  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

surmounting  one  obstacle  another  will  always  rise 
before  our  feet.  From  obstacle  to  obstacle  we  shall 
always  be  led  to  the  foot  of  the  same  wall.  We 
shall  consume  our  whole  life  in  the  struggle,  know- 
ing that  the  very  interest  of  life  lies  in  that  struggle 
and  in  those  obstacles. 

Now  and  then,  detached  by  great  efforts  of  the 
pickaxe  and  the  mattock,  a  fragment  of  the  somber 
mountain  rolls  at  our  feet.  We  stop  it  with  rap- 
ture, we  examine  it,  we  lift  it  with  a  sort  of  sadness, 
in  order  to  try  its  weight.  There  is  no  victory 
that  demands  so  great  a  price  or  seems  to  us  more 
desolate.  It  is  as  if  we  roused  ourselves  to  a  frenzy 
to  destroy  the  unknown  in  order  that  our  success 
might  fill  us  with  bitterness.  Happily,  the  unknown 
is  always  there. 

I  find  myself  alone  with  the  person  who  of  all  the 
world  is  the  closest  to  me,  the  best  loved,  the  most 
perfectly  chosen.  The  silence  exhales  a  light  per- 
fume, a  unique  perfume  that  seems  that  of  our  kin- 
dred souls.  Oh!  how  we  should  like  to  believe  that 
the  essences  of  our  beings,  delivered  at  last,  might 
communicate  and  unite  with  each  other  in  the  inter- 
mediate space,  in  the  impassable  abyss! 

At  this  very  moment  we  surprise  in  one  another's 
eyes  a  common  thought.  Simultaneously,  it  escapes 
our  lips  with  a  sort  of  rapturous  precipitancy,  as  if 
we  were  afraid  of  not  arriving  at  exactly  the  same 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         49 

moment  at  the  rendez-vous,  as  if  we  wished,  with 
the  harmonious  precision  of  a  well-rehearsed  duet,  to 
confess  together  some  matchless  certainty. 

We  are  happy,  filled  with  astonishment.  .  .  .  But 
I  am  not  deceived. 

I  do  not  yet  hold  it,  palpitating,  for  good  and 
all,  between  my  fingers,  the  proof  that  has  been  so 
long  sought  for.  Not  yet,  this  day,  have  I  met 
face  to  face  either  God  or  the  immortal  soul. 

Only  too  well  I  know  that  some  slight  sound,  some 
rhythm  outside  us,  the  beating  of  a  bird's  wing,  the 
boring  of  an  insect  in  the  old  wood  of  the  furniture, 
the  sigh  of  the  wind  under  the  door, —  that  it  is  one 
of  these  things  which  has  suddenly  set  our  souls  in 
tune,  awakened  the  echoes  of  affinity  in  the  abysses 
of  our  two  separate  selves.  We  have  so  many  mem- 
ories in  common,  we  have  so  carefully  matched 
our  tastes,  we  have  so  well  unified  our  material 
world  and  tried  to  blend  even  our  futures  together 
that  the  very  touch  of  the  violinist's  bow  suffices  to 
make  us  vibrate  in  harmony. 

But  there  must  be  the  touch  of  the  bow,  there 
must  be  the  perfume,  so  faint  that  one  experiences 
its  suggestions  without  being  sure  of  its  presence; 
perhaps  there  is  necessary  only  one  of  those  obscure 
phenomena  which  pass  the  limit  of  our  senses  in  the 
twilight  where  our  inadequate  organs  can  only 
gropingly  divine  the  world. 


50  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

This  is  'our  meager  certainty.  Very  well !  Let 
us  not  reject  it  in  our  spite ;  for  it  has  its  depth,  its 
beauty.  We  must  make  it  our  own,  force  it  to  en- 
rich us./ 

Where  the  exercise  of  the  intelligence  seems  to  re- 
sult in  the  fatal  imprisonment  of  the  soul  within 
itself,  love  enables  us  to  see  how  the  soul  can  reach 
beyond  its  own  limits  into  time  and  space.  In  vain 
does  the  intelligence  prove  to  us  that  all  this  is  only 
an  illusion.  That  illusion  is  beautiful;  let  us  make 
up  our  minds  to  give  it  shape.  Through  its  very 
longings  to  escape  from  its  confines,  the  soul  may 
perhaps  succeed  in  breaking  them,  and  it  is  to  love 
without  a  doubt  that  it  will  owe  the  miracle  of  its 
deliverance. 

We  possess  only  an  imperfect  means  of  com- 
munion. So  be  it!  Let  us  labor  tenderly  to  per- 
fect that  means.  It  is  thus  that  the  creators  of  sci- 
ence and  industry  labor,  and  we  must  admit  that 
their  stubbornness  has  succeeded  in  making  a  very 
great  evil  out  of  a  small  one.  Let  us  not  be  less 
ingenious !  This  sinister  progress  ought  to  give  us 
encouragement:  moral  civilization  deserves  as  much 
care  as  the  other  sort. 

With  our  brothers,  our  wives,  our  friends,  let  us 
freely  seek  to  have  so  many  things  in  common,  let 
us  strive  so  passionately  to  understand  one  another, 
that  our  thoughts,  ceaselessly  pressing  toward  this 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         51 

goal,  may  continually  experience  the  sense  of  infin- 
ity and  eternity. 

There  lies  our  path;  if  it  urges  us  to  possess  the 
largest  portion  we  can  of  the  human  world,  let  us 
first  begin  by  intimately  possessing  what  we  love. 
This  possession  I  am  sure  is  the  only  real  one. 
They  knew  it  very  well,  those  desperate  men  who 
have  loved  fiercely  the  mere  bodies  of  women  with- 
out ever  receiving  the  real  gift  that  can  be  yielded 
in  a  glance,  from  a  distance,  with  the  swiftness  of 
lightning. 

VI 

There  are  men  who  set  out  from  their  homes  in 
the  morning  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth.  They  walk 
with  their  eyes  on  the  pavement,  they  fling  them- 
selves furiously  into  all  sorts  of  petty  labors. 
They  dream  of  lost  money,  princely  gifts,  scan- 
dalous inheritances,  lotteries.  They  think  of  gold 
as  of  an  inaccessible  woman  whom  they  can  strike 
down  and  ravish  in  a  corner.  They  return  home  in 
the  evening  worn  out,  exasperated,  famished,  as 
poor  as  ever.  They  have  not  even  seen  the  face  of 
the  man  who  sat  next  them  in  the  subway.  That  face 
itself  was  a  fortune. 

Do  you  seek  out  your  friend  because,  on  occasion, 
he  can  lend  you  the  sum  you  foresee  you  are  going 
to  need,  because  he  can  speak  to  some  cabinet  of- 


52  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

ficial  on  your  behalf,  because  he  is  a  jovial  host? 
If  that  is  the  case,  you  are  a  slave,  you  possess 
nothing.  Do  you,  on  the  contrary,  love  him  for 
that  way  of  smiling  he  has  that  so  delights  you,  for 
the  candor  and  tenderness  his  hesitating  voice  be- 
trays, his  gift  of  tears  and  his  stormy  repentances? 
If  this  is  so,  you  are  very  rich:  that  man  is  yours 
and  he  is  a  treasure  worth  having. 

Can  you  recall  the  use  you  made  of  your  first  five- 
franc  piece?  Most  assuredly  not!  But  you  will 
never  forget  a  certain  expression  which,  in  your 
eyes,  distorted  or  made  more  beautiful  some  well- 
loved  face  when  you  were  a  little  child.  That  has, 
and  always  will  have,  a  place  among  your  treasures : 
that  day  you  really  learned  something  of  impor- 
tance, and  you  have  never  ceased  since  to  recall  the 
victory  and  turn  it  to  account. 

If  you  have  little  inclination  to  squander  your 
fortune,  what  is  to  prevent  you  from  assembling  it 
under  one  title-deed?  A  single  face,  a  single  soul,  is 
yet  an  inestimable  estate.  One  may  believe  one  has 
exhausted  all  one's  resources,  but  one  is  always  de- 
ceived, for  like  the  earth,  the  human  landscape  is 
always  perpetually  laboring  and  bears  fruit  every 
season. 

The  peasant  who  possesses  only  an  acre  is  full  of 
pride  nevertheless,  for  he  knows  that  his  possession 
goes  down  to  the  very  center  of  the  earth. 


\ 

THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         53 

For  many  years  I  have  watched  the  same  face,  like 
the  faithful  horizon  stretched  across  the  aperture  of 
a  window.  It  contrives,  that  face,  a  thousand 
things,  it  expresses  and  reflects  a  thousand  things, 
I  alone  know  its  touching  beauty,  since  I  alone  am 
able  to  reap  all  its  harvests,  since  I  alone  cannot, 
without  a  glance,  allow  the  tiniest  flower  of  every 
day  to  die. 

VII 

It  is  not  wholly  within  your  power  to  be  without 
enemies ;  it  behooves  you,  indeed,  not  to  lack  adver- 
saries. Above  all,  it  behooves  you  to  know  your 
adversaries.  From  that  to  conquering  them  is  but 
a  short  step.  From  that  to  loving  them  is  no  step 
at  all. 

Do  not  dread  an  experience  too  much;  consider 
your  adversary  attentively  and  try  to  imagine  his 
motives,  those  that  he  declares  as  well  as  those  that 
he  conceals,  those  that  he  invents  as  well  as  those  of 
which  he  is  ignorant.  Think  long  enough  and  with 
enough  intensity  to  understand  these  reasons,  and 
even  to  discover  new  ones  of  which  your  adversary 
has  not  thought;  this  will  not  be  difficult  for  you  if 
you  have  any  knowledge  of  yourself. 

Then  make  a  strong  effort  to  put  yourself,  in 
spirit,  in  the  place  of  him  you  are  combatting.  Do 
not  go  so  far  as  to  detest  yourself,  but  do  not  re- 


54  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

fuse  this  opportunity  of  judging  yourself  severely. 
For  a  test:  perhaps  you  have  entered  upon  this  ex- 
perience with  your  teeth  and  fists  clenched;  stop 
when  you  find  that  you  are  smiling  and  that  your 
hands  are  relaxed. 

One  has  no  idea  how  much  this  exercise  inclines 
one  to  justice,  how  profitable  it  is  and  how  destruc- 
tive of  hatred.  Too  much  imagination  would  per- 
haps lead  you  to  neglect  your  own  cause;  stop  in 
time,  therefore,  unless  you  wish  to  become,  as  the 
spectators  may  decide,  either  a  fool  or  a  hero. 

For  my  part,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  counselling 
such  a  practice:  it  teaches  one  to  conquer,  to  con- 
quer smilingly.  It  teaches  one  to  know  one's  adver- 
sary. And  then,  too,  it  is  good  as  everything  is 
good  that  forestalls  and  destroys  hatred. 

There  is  only  one  single  thing  in  the  world  that  is, 
perhaps,  really  hateful,  stupidity.  But  even  that 
is  disputable,  and  moreover  it  is  always  a  pre- 
sumptuous assertion. 

Happy  is  the  man  who  has  no  enemies.  But,  I 
repeat,  he  who  has  no  adversaries,  he  who  has  not 
accepted  those  that  life  offers  him,  or  has  not  been 
able  to  procure  any  of  his  own  will,  is  ignorant  of  a 
great  source  of  wealth. 

There  is  but  small  merit  in  understanding  those 
whom  we  love;  there  is  a  great,  a  crowningly  bitter 
pleasure,  in  penetrating  a  soul  that  is  hostile  to  us, 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         55 

in  making  it  our  own  by  main  force,  in  colonizing  it. 

Not  to  choose  our  friends,  that  is  to  be  too  self- 
denying,  too  modest.  Not  to  choose  our  adver- 
saries, that  is  altogether  too  stupid;  it  is  inexcus- 
able. 

A  voice  whispers  in  my  ear :  "  We  do  not  choose 
our  vermin,  we  do  not  choose  our  mad  dogs.  .  .  ." 
Alas,  no!  but  that  is  quite  another  matter. 

VIII 

Every  time  I  hear  someone  use  the  word  "  pro- 
miscuity," I  recall  an  experience  I  once  had.  An 
experience, —  that  is  a  great  deal  to  say,  it  was  such 
a  slight  affair  after  all. 

It  was  in  the  days  when  there  still  used  to  be  in 
Paris  those  omnibuses  with  upper  stories.  I  was  re- 
turning home  quite  late,  on  one  of  those  fresh,  airy 
nights  when  one  suddenly  draws  in,  through  the 
fetid  breath  of  the  streets,  a  gust  that  comes  from 
afar  and  seems  unwilling  to  let  itself  be  defiled,  ob- 
literated. I  was  dreaming  all  alone,  quite  to  myself, 
about  things  of  no  interest  to  anyone  but  myself, 
but  that  happily  filled  the  infinite  space  of  the 
world. 

Through  the  depths  of  this  reverie  I  became 
aware  of  a  slight,  muffled  blow  against  my  right 
shoulder.  This  did  not  rouse  me  from  my  own 
absorption.  A  second  time  the  blow  came,  followed 


56  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

by  a  soft,  continuous  contact.  It  gave  me  a  dis- 
agreeable sensation. 

By  my  side  there  was  a  young  boy  of  sixteen  or 
seventeen,  dressed  like  an  apprentice.  The  uncer- 
tain glimmer  of  the  street-lamps  lighted  up  his  pale, 
weary  face.  His  eyes  were  closed  and  he  seemed 
overwhelmed  with  sleep.  I  noticed  that  every  few 
moments  his  head,  swaying  with  the  jolts  of  the 
vehicle,  would  strike  against  my  shoulder.  He 
would  raise  it  up  with  an  instinctive  movement,  only 
to  let  it  fall  back  the  more  heavily  the  next  moment. 
Once  he  let  it  lie  there.  At  the  time  I  was  so  lost  in 
my  dreams  that  the  animal  in  me  alone  rose  to  its 
defense:  I  pushed  the  young  lad  gently  back  into  his 
place.  It  was  trouble  lost ;  the  next  second  he  aban- 
doned himself  anew  against  my  shoulder  with  a  sort 
of  desperate  ingenuousness.  I  pushed  him  back  two 
or  three  times,  then  I  gave  it  up  and  tried,  in  spite 
of  this  slight  burden,  to  continue  my  glorious  excur- 
sion in  the  interior  of  my  own  self. 

But  I  did  not  succeed.  An  extraordinary,  un- 
foreseen, unknown  sensation  was  sweeping  over  me. 
It  was  a  penetrating  animal  warmth.  It  came  from 
that  head  propped  against  my  shoulder,  and  also 
from  a  certain  frai],  bent  arm  which  I  felt  slowly 
digging  into  my  side.  The  little  apprentice  was 
sound  asleep. 

I  bent  down  my  face  and  felt  his  breath  like  that 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         57 

of  a  child  passing  in  little  puffs  over  my  cheek  and 
my  chin.  From  that  moment  on,  I  ceased  com- 
pletely to  think  of  my  important  personal  affairs 
and  I  had  only  one  anxiety :  to  see  to  it  that  the  boy 
did  not  awaken. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  this  sleep  lasted:  I  was 
warm  with  a  strange,  delicate  warmth;  I  had  a  sense 
of  well-being,  I  was  absorbed,  I  was  penetrating  into 
an  unknown  universe,  as  vast,  as  starry  as  my  own. 
I  could  not  understand  how  this  contact  could  have 
offended  me  at  first,  even  disgusted  me.  I  had  torn 
off  the  prickly  shell  and  was  tasting,  like  a  nourish- 
ing kernel,  that  human  presence  and  companionship. 
I  was  happy  and  interested. 

We  reached  a  place  where  there  were  shouts  and 
lights.  The  little  fellow  sat  up  with  a  start,  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  ran  stumbling  towards  the  stairway 
and  disappeared ;  he  had  not  even  seen  me. 

He  did  not  know  what  I  owed  him  and  that  he 
would  never  be  forgotten. 

IX 

One  must  not,  at  first  sight,  say  that  a  man  is  un- 
interesting and  that  his  face  is  expressionless.  One 
might  as  well  say  that  the  water  of  a  river  is  empty 
when  it  swarms  with  vegetable  and  animal  life. 

In  one's  manner  of  listening  to  a  man  there  may 
be  prejudice  and  suspicion,  there  must  not  be  indif- 


58  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

ference  or  indolence.  The  soul  has,  in  its  arsenal, 
lenses,  microscopes,  and  powerful  sources  of  light 
for  exploring  objects  to  their  depths,  through  their 
transparencies,  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  their 
organs. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  war  I  lived  for  two  years 
with  a  comrade  who  was  invariably  silent  and  indo- 
lent ;  his  handsome  face  remained  always  so  gloomy, 
his  actions  remained  so  devoid  of  purpose  and  sig- 
nificance, that  I  despaired  of  ever  making  him  my 
prey;  I  was  simply  never  touched  with  a  desire  to 
get  hold  of  him. 

Then  a  day  came  when  I  heard  him  greet  some 
happening  with  a  word,  pronounced  in  such  a  chal- 
lenging tone  that  I  decided  to  undertake  the  expe- 
dition. I  spent  days  and  days  at  it,  with  the  pick- 
axe, mattock,  and  little  lantern  of  the  miner.  I 
have  thought  of  him  ever  since  with  stupefaction,  as 
of  those  subterranean,  half-explored  chasms  where 
one  finds  rivers,  colonnades,  domes,  blind  animals 
and  terrible  shapes  of  stone. 

The  nature  of  the  object  should  not  discourage 
one's  interest.  The  viper  is  a  dangerous  and  vindic- 
tive creature.  The  naturalists  who  have  been  able 
to  study  it  have  only  been  able  to  do  so  because  they 
have  studied  with  passion,  that  is  to  say,  with  love. 

So  much  to  tell  you  that  that  sort  of  zoological 
curiosity  you  may  bring  to  the  study  of  your  neigh- 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         59 

bor  no  more  authorizes  cruelty  than  it  allows  you 
to  dispense  with  affection. 

Extreme  attention  resembles  affection.     Contem- 
plation is  pure  love. 


It  is  after  my  own  taste  that  I  mean  to  enjoy  my 
possessions. 

First,  I  wish  to  have  part  possession  of  my  com- 
panions. There  is  no  question  of  my  being  the  only 
one  to  possess  them,  or  of  my  limiting  my  empire  to 
one  or  two  of  them.  What  I  plan  is  to  undertake 
each  conquest  separately.  This  word,  we  shall  see, 
does  not  signify  seduction,  but  a  knowledge  that  is 
full  of  respect,  a  profound,  lasting  interest,  an  en- 
thusiasm, a  passionate  contemplation. 

Observe  them,  your  comrades:  say  you  have 
twenty-three  of  them;  you  will  find  through  them 
twenty-three  distinct  representations  of  yourself, 
and  that  in  spite  of  yourself,  through  the  mere 
play  of  everyday  life.  One  of  them  knows 
chiefly  your  tireless  patience ;  another,  who  works 
beside  you  all  day,  knows  that  you  are  pains- 
taking and  irritable;  he  is,  however,  ignorant 
of  what  a  third,  the  friend  of  your  fireside,  knows, — 
that  you  arc  a  careful  and  anxious  father.  There 
are  others  for  whom  you  are,  above  all,  a  soul  torn 
by  religion  or  a  mind  familiar  with  everything  that 


60  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

concerns  social  questions,  or  a  great  lover  of  read- 
ing. Others,  finally,  see  in  you  only  a  good  billiard- 
player,  or  a  crack  shot,  or  a  courteous  companion. 

You  are,  of  course,  all  these  things.  The  total- 
ity of  these  various  aspects  is,  indeed,  you,  pro- 
vided that  we  add  also  many  other  qualities  that  no 
one  suspects.  But  each  one  of  your  comrades  sees 
an  aspect  of  you  that  is  different  from  what  his 
neighbor  sees.  For  this  reason,  avoid  confusion, 
avoid  mixing  things.  Be  lavish  of  yourself  in  every 
sense,  but  begin  by  being  prudent,  careful  of  your 
resources  and  skilful  in  the  art  of  grouping  them. 

One  day  you  were  having  an  affectionate  conver- 
sation with  Maurin.  You  were  delighted  with  one 
another,  delighted  to  be  together,  satisfied  with  your 
fellowship,  your  mutual  possession.  You  were  not 
talking  of  anything  very  private.  But  then  Bleche 
came  up,  Bleche  with  whom  you  have  such  profit- 
able, such  intimate  talks,  and  all  the  charm  of 
Maurin's  company  disappeared  without  your  being 
able  to  compensate  yourself  with  the  usual  pleasure 
you  take  in  the  society  of  Bleche.  This  was  be- 
cause, in  the  presence  of  both,  you  could  not  give 
each  one  what  you  are  accustomed  to  give  him,  nor 
could  you  ask  from  him  what  he  gives  only  to  you. 

These  combinations,  like  those  of  the  chemists, 
demand  much  care  and  judgment.  Don't  protest! 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         61 

Don't  exclaim  that  such  notions  are  too  subtle,  too 
complex:  you  do  not  receive  all  your  friends  pell- 
mell.  However  much  of  an  epicure  you  may  be,  you 
still  give  more  attention  to  the  selection  of  your 
guests  than  to  the  composition  of  the  menu.  Of 
what  importance  is  the  most  delicate  fare  in  com- 
parison with  the  delight  the  conversation  of  care- 
fully chosen  human  beings  gives  us? 

That  is  why,  when  you  are  sure  of  two  persons  for 
whom  you  feel  an  interest  that  borders  on  passion, 
you  experience  such  a  delicious  anxiety  at  the  mo- 
ment of  presenting  them  to  one  another,  of  bringing 
them  together  in  your  presence. 

You  are  like  the  maker  of  fireworks  who  is  about 
to  mix  changeable  substances  with  explosive  proper- 
ties in  his  mortar.  You  weigh  them  carefully  and 
combine  them  in  well-defined  proportions.  You 
take  time  preparing  each  of  the  spiritual  elements  of 
this  mixture. 

And  when  the  union  is  accomplished,  you  seem  to 
be  saying  to  each  of  them :  "  I  have  prepared  a 
magnificent  gift  for  you.  Come,  now,  and  know 
one  another." 

Your  heart  throbs,  because  eacli  of  them  is  not 
only  going  to  know  the  other  but  is  going  to  learn  to 
know  you  through  the  eyes  of  the  other. 

Could  there  be  a  better  reason  for  living? 


62  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

XI 

However  brief  may  be  the  intercourse  we  have 
with  a  man,  we  always  come  away  from  it  somewhat 
modified :  we  find  we  are  a  little  greater  than  we  were 
before,  or  a  little  less  great,  better  or  worse,  exalted 
or  diminished. 

I  have  learned  this  from  having,  in  the  course  of 
my  life,  approached  many  men,  both  famous  and  ob- 
scure, who  do  not  dream  what  I  owe  them  or  the 
harm  they  have  been  able  to  do  me. 

We  instinctively  recognize  and  classify  indi- 
viduals according  to  this  faculty  they  have,  some 
of  drawing  us  out,  others  of  crushing  us.  It  is  a 
faculty  they  usually  exert  without  knowing  it,  even 
against  their  will:  they  are  tonic  or  depressing  just 
as  one  is  short  or  tall,  just  as  one  has  black  eyes  or 
green.  But  the  comparison  breaks  down  in  this 
respect,  that  it  is  always  possible  to  modify  the 
reaction  we  produce  on  others. 

In  this  matter  we  exhibit  a  special  sensibility  that 
may  be  compared  to  the  tropisms  which  push  plants 
up  toward  the  light  or  make  them  struggle  against 
gravitation.  We  go  toward  some  and  flee  from 
others,  regardless  of  our  interests  or  our  preju- 
dices. 

The  man  whose  companionship  we  seek  because  it 
stimulates  us  is  not  necessarily  he  who  strives  to  give 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         63 

us  a  good  opinion  of  ourselves.  Often  he  is  taci- 
turn, sometimes  surly,  occasionally  ironical  and  cut- 
ting. Nevertheless,  there  emanates  from  his  whole 
person  something  like  approbation,  a  confession  of 
confidence.  Even  if  he  insists,  harshly,  noisily, 
upon  calling  attention  to  our  faults,  he  does  not 
make  us  despair  of  ourselves  and  our  future.  And 
if  he  never  speaks  to  us  about  ourselves  we  yet  know, 
by  some  imperceptible  gesture,  by  some  tone  in  his 
voice,  by  a  gleam  in  his  eye,  that  he  is  interested  in 
us. 

Every  time  we  leave  him  we  like  him  better,  we  like 
ourselves  better,  we  like  all  humanity  better,  we  look 
at  everything  with  a  smile,  we  are  as  full  of  plans  as 
a  tree  in  April. 

The  other  sort  of  man,  on  the  contrary,  is  forever 
deluding  himself.  He  pursues  before  our  very  eyes 
an  end  which  we  see,  with  grief  and  bitterness,  he 
regularly  fails  to  attain.  Whatever  he  does,  what- 
ever he  says,  he  always  shows  us  that  he  is  a 
stranger  to  us,  that  he  is  superior  and  that  we  do 
not  interest  him.  Even  in  his  manner  of  wishing  to 
give  us  his  attention,  he  exhibits  a  certain  difficulty 
in  seeing  us  at  all.  If  he  tries  to  seem  talkative, 
important,  majestic,  his  natural  gifts  turn  against 
him ;  his  cordiality  disgusts  us,  his  bearing  irritates 
us,  his  self-importance  makes  us  want  to  laugh.  We 
cannot  forgive  him  anything,  and  especially  the  fact 


64  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

that  we  always  leave  him  with  the  same  vague  de- 
pression, the  same  disgust  of  life,  and  the  same  dis- 
trust of  our  own  undertakings.  What  we  are  always 
escapes  him,  and  although  what  he  is  does  not 
escape  us,  we  are  discouraged  by  him  all  the  same. 

We  must  be  the  first  of  these  two  men,  he  who  is, 
amid  all  things,  in  spite  of  all  things,  a  rich  man,  he 
whom  the  poet  of  the  Livre  d'  amour  justly  called 
"  a  conqueror." 

XII 

You  must  not  violate  your  gifts,  you  must  simply 
study  their  possibilities.  It  is  what  we  do  with 
trees  -and  animals  in  which  we  are  able  to  instil  vir- 
tues they  do  not  seem  to  possess  at  all  naturally. 

However  humble  your  position  in  society  may  be, 
however  great  your  poverty,  in  the  crude  sense  men 
give  to  this  word,  you  may  none  the  less  become  rich 
and  successful  without  so  much  as  leaving  the  room 
where  you  are  in  conversation  with  your  comrade, 
your  wife  or  your  favorite  adversary.  Find  your 
study  there.  You  have  observed  that  when  two  men 
meet  they  begin  by  sacrificing  to  the  old  custom  of 
enquiring  briefly  about  one  another's  health  and 
affairs,  after  which,  without  waiting  for  the  other's 
reply,  each  one  begins  to  speak  of  himself.  This  is 
such  an  old  usage  that  they  do  not  even  know  they 
are  doing  it.  Each  one  speaks  of  himself  for  a  few 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         65 

moments,  then  allows  the  other  to  talk  about  hjm- 
self  for  about  the  same  length  of  time.  When  this 
has  gone  on  long  enough  they  separate,  and  each 
preserves  for  his  partner  a  vague  feeling  of  grati- 
tude, not  so  much  because  he  has  listened  as  because 
he  has  made  a  pretense  of  listening  to  matters  that 
were  of  no  concern  to  him. 

This  fact  suggests  a  great  lesson.  The  majority 
of  men  suffer  from  a  sort  of  neglect,  they  suffer 
from  not  being  possessed  by  anyone,  from  offering 
themselves  in  vain.  Stretch  out  your  hand  and 
seize  them.  Learn  to  say  the  word  that  will  assure 
you  the  mastery,  the  domination. 

It  is  inconceivable  that  so  many  spirits,  tormented 
by  the  need  for  power,  by  the  passion  for  authority, 
should  waste  and  sterilize  themselves  in  order  to 
hoard  money,  win  rank,  obtain  a  title.  They  gain 
nothing  from  it  but  a  pride  that  withers  them;  they 
clasp  only  the  shadow  of  what  they  pursue. 

Seek  a  little  and  you  will  soon  find  that  they  are 
legion  who  ask  nothing  better  than  to  cast  them- 
selves into  your  nets.  Do  not  believe  that  they  are 
always  the  mediocre  victims.  It  is  not  only  the 
wretched  who  wish  to  be  understood  and  consoled. 
There  are  many  sceptics  who  await  with  anguish  the 
touch  of  a  hand  to  deliver  them  from  their  scepti- 
cism. There  are  many  happy  men,  too,  who  can- 
not bear  to  be  alone  with  their  happiness,  for  man 


66  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

has  even  more  need  of  help  in  joy  than  in  sorrow. 

It  has  often  happened,  while  walking  with  a  com- 
rade, a  stranger  or  an  adversary,  that  I  would  find 
him  hard,  defiant,  rebellious  at  every  touch. 
Thereupon,  I  would  set  out  openly,  under  his  very 
eye,  to  capture  him.  I  would  begin  to  speak  to  him 
about  himself.  I  would  say  to  him :  "  The  unique 
things  about  you  are  .  .  ."  And  I  would  confide 
to  him  everything  I  thought  about  him,  being  par- 
ticularly careful  to  say  nothing  more  about  myself. 
I  would  interest  myself  in  him,  not  fictitiously  - 
that  is  a  barren  and  a  perilous  game  —  but  with  all 
my  heart,  with  all  my  intelligence.  I  would  tell  him 
what  I  knew,  what  I  already  possessed  of  him,  his 
virtues  and  his  faults.  Confused  or  irritated,  he 
would  come  to  my  feet,  he  would  appear  as  if  be- 
fore a  bar  to  give  thanks  or  to  plead,  to  show  his 
claws  or  to  purr.  The  things  I  had  said  to  him 
might  be  very  severe;  I  still  felt  that  he  was  grate- 
ful to  me  for  having  cared  about  him,  even  in  order 
to  attack  him.  No  longer  was  he  in  any  haste  to 
leave  me.  Often  he  would  come  back  on  the  days 
that  followed  and  make  me  unexpected  visits ; 
though  I  could  see  that  he  was  provoked,  I  knew 
nevertheless  that  he  had  come  to  pay  homage,  to 
attest  that  he  was  a  faithful  subject. 

"  The  unique   things   about  you  are"  .  .  .  That 
is  a  chance  phrase.     There  are  others,  there  are  a 


THE  POSSESSION  OF  OTHERS         67 

thousand  of  them.  When  you  are  ready,  a  grip  of 
the  hand  or  some  other  human  sign  may  take  its 
place.  I  remember  the  story  of  a  certain  prefect 
who,  having  no  worse  enemy  than  a  traitor  in  his 
department,  had  the  happy  thought  one  day  of  ask- 
ing him  to  have  a  drink  and  going  away  without 
paying  for  it.  This  extraordinary  proof  of  confi- 
dence attached  the  man  to  him  forever. 

Not  that  all  your  victims  will  be  so  tremblingly 
easy.  There  are  proud  souls  who  set  a  high  price 
on  their  conquest,  fantastic  and  sick  souls  whom  one 
has  to  seize  suddenly  and  overthrow  almost  before 
they  are  aware  of  it. 

You  must  set  the  time  and  choose  the  hour  of  the 
attack. 

Do  not  accost  the  business  man  in  the  roar  of  the 
Exchange;  attempt  the  field  rather  at  the  hour 
when,  wearied,  he  is  counting  over  and  reckoning 
his  disillusionmcnts.  Do  not  seize  the  man  of  action 
on  the  battlefield,  but  in  the  moment  of  leisure  when 
he  does  not  know  what  to  do  with  his  solitude. 

What  marvelous  opportunities  must  the  shy  Las 
Casas  have  glimpsed  at  Saint  Helena,  even  though 
he  was  pursuing  other  aims  ! 

I  once  saw  a  simple  soul  publicly  congratulate  a 
master  surgeon  whose  skill  had  for  long  years  placed 
him  above  all  felicitations.  And  the  celebrated  man 
blushed,  bowed,  gave  in. 


68  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

A  successful  lawyer  said  to  me  one  day :  "  Each 
one  of  my  clients  imagines  that  I  think  only  of  him, 
that  I  occupy  myself  exclusively  with  him." 

Remember,  too,  that  certain  women  never  capitu- 
late twice:  they  never  forgive  themselves  for  having 
yielded  completely  even  for  a  moment.  The  same 
thing  is  true  with  others  who  are  offended  with  you 
because  you  have  "  taken  "  them  by  force.  Do  not 
regret  this  sacrifice  too  much:  it  leaves  a  beautiful 
jewel  in  your  casket. 

Truly  the  whole  vast  race  of  men  belongs  to  you. 

Take  and  eat,  you  cannot  find  more  noble  food. 

See,  there  is  the  world  you  must  conquer.  It  is 
not  that  for  whose  possession  proud  peoples  are 
driven  to  declare  war;  it  is  indeed  quite  another 
world  than  that  which  Satan  showed  Jesus  from  the 
summit  of  the  mountain. 


IV 
ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD 


THE  world  contains  not  one  single  object  that 
might  not  be  a  source  of  happiness.  Sorrow 
springs  from  this,  that  man  outdoes  himself  in  mis- 
using everything.  He  turns  against  his  own  body 
or  his  own  spirit  all  sorts  of  things  that  seem  well 
made  for  his  joy. 

Every  being  contains  an  unbelievable  store  of 
happiness,  and  this  one  virtue  reveals  the  angle 
from  which  he  ought  to  be  judged. 

Your  true  business  man  makes  a  practice  of 
weighing  everything  in  terms  of  gold:  a  human  be- 
ing, a  field  of  wheat,  a  beam,  a  precious  stone.  His 
tables  of  value  are  false,  but  the  principle  of  valua- 
tion remains  none  the  less  efficacious,  fundamental. 
The  mistake  of  these  persons  is  in  testing  everything 
by  a  single  measure,  in  reducing  everything  to  this 
gold  which  enables  them  to  seek  their  chosen  pleasure. 
If  it  is  drink,  or  woman,  they  transmute  an  orchard 

into  wine  or  into  women,  losing  terribly  by  the  ex- 

69 


70  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

change.  They  thus  produce  a  sort  of  analogy  to 
what  the  physicists  call  the  degradation  of  energy: 
little  by  little,  the  traffickers  degrade  their  pleas- 
ures until  they  obtain  those  they  prefer.  But  hap- 
piness is  higher  than  this :  it  cannot  be  degraded, 
bought,  transmuted.  It  is  a  pure  relationship  be- 
tween the  soul  and  the  world.  It  will  never  be  the 
mere  object  of  a  transaction.  Many  are  the  men 
who  have  fastened  their  hope,  their  future  upon  the 
acquisition  of  some  material  good  only  to  experi- 
ence after  years  of  effort  and  privation  a  burning 
disillusion.  That  is  because  happiness  is  too  proud 
and  free  a  thing  to  obey  the  commands  of  merchants. 
It  follows  laws  of  its  own  that  seem  like  inspirations, 
it  does  not  come  at  the  bidding  of  business  men. 
The  castle  we  have  coveted  so  long  may  open  at 
the  appointed  hour;  joy  will  not  take  up  its  abode 
there  unless  we  have  deserved  it. 

It  must  be  repeated  again :  the  principle  of  evalua- 
tion is  at  the  base  of  our  moral  life.  But  each  thing 
should  be  valued  in  itself  and  for  itself. 

A  tuft  of  violets  is  worth  a  great  deal  for  its  per- 
fume and  its  beauty,  it  can  bring  joy  or  consolation 
to  a  great  many  hearts.  But  it  has  only  the  slightest 
commercial  value;  estimated  in  terms  of  building 
lumber  or  freestone  it  signifies  nothing,  or  virtually 
nothing. 

That  so  many  men  should  cut  and  sell  wood,  shape 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        71 

and  barter  the  stone  of  which  our  houses  are  built, 
go  gathering  violets  through  the  May  thickets  to 
sell  them  to  townsfolk,  is  undoubtedly  right  and  nec- 
essary. The  real  question  is  quite  a  different  one: 
we  must  first  possess  for  their  own  sakes  all  the 
blessings  that  are  offered  us,  and  not  obstinately 
transform  them,  without  an  important  reason,  be- 
yond our  strict  needs,  at  the  risk  of  forever  losing 
our  understanding  and  our  true  possession  of  them. 

It  is  almost  a  truism  that  men  who  are  obliged 
by  their  profession  to  handle,  store  or  sell  substances 
famous  for  their  power  of  giving  pleasure,  perfumes, 
fruits,  silks,  end  by  losing  all  appreciation  of  them 
and  even  by  contracting  a  disgust  and  contempt  for 
them.  Cooks  have  no  appetite.  Let  us  not  be 
cooks,  then,  in  the  presence  of  this  vast  world ;  let 
us  know  how  to  preserve  or  restore  to  eacli  object 
its  original  savor  and  significance. 

I  say  "  restore  "  intentionally,  for  the  world  seems 
to  be  more  and  more  turning  from  its  true  sense,  that 
is  to  say,  its  human  sense,  the  only  one  for  us. 

A  stone  is  a  beautiful  thing,  beautiful  from  all 
points  of  view;  its  grain,  its  color,  its  brilliancy*  its 
hardness  are  all  so  many  virtues  that  exercise  and 
satisfy  our  senses,  excite  our  reflections.  We  have 
a  thousand  noble  uses,  speculative  or  practical,  to 
which  we  can  put  such  an  object.  We  shall  be  the 
kings  of  the  universe  if  we  assert  boldly  that  we 


72  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

find  in  these  uses  and  in  our  joy  the  very  destiny  of 
the  stone. 

I  remember  seeing  hills  that  had  been  disem- 
boweled by  a  bombardment  and  were  sown  with  long 
splinters  of  twisted  iron;  the  base  of  a  monstrous 
shell  appeared  before  me,  one  day,  under  these  con- 
ditions, and  it  seemed  to  me  truly  inhuman,  this 
product  of  the  work  of  men:  the  noble  metal,  with 
which  so  many  good  and  beautiful  things  can  be 
made,  took  on  a  hateful  appearance.  Man  had 
achieved  the  mournful  miracle  of  denaturing  nature, 
rendering  it  ignoble  and  criminal. 

Truly,  we  are  equally  guilty  every  time  we  turn 
an  object  aside  from  its  mission,  which  is  altogether 
one  of  happiness.  We  are  guilty  again  every  time 
we  fail  to  extract,  for  others  and  for  ourselves,  all 
the  happiness  an  object  holds  in  store  and  only  asks 
to  be  allowed  to  yield. 

II 

It  is  because  every  fragment  of  the  earth  is  a 
source  of  happiness  that  men  ceaselessly  dream  of 
winning  that  source  for  their  own  profit. 

They  do  not  wish  to  have  all  humanity  refresh 
itself,  plunge  its  feverish  face  and  lips  in  the  cool 
waters. 

Once  the  springs  were  the  delight  and  the  wealth 
of  whole  peoples ;  they  were  conducted  magnificently 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        73 

along  majestically  proportioned  aqueducts;  their 
liquid  opulence,  crossing  valleys  and  mountains,  en- 
tered the  cities  with  a  great  outburst  of  architec- 
tural joy;  it  shone  and  sparkled  in  the  sunlight  from 
a  thousand  embellished  apertures  before  it  went  to 
bathe  and  nourish  the  people. 

The  statues  of  the  gods  watched  over  this  treas- 
ure. 

Today,  the  most  beautiful  springs  are  guarded 
by  railings ;  one  goes  to  a  wicket  and  pays  in  order 
to  drink  there. 

In  the  same  way,  all  the  springs  of  joy  seem  to 
have  been  sequestered  for  the  profit  of  a  few  people. 

This  is  not  always  for  the  sake  of  gain.  In  most 
cases  it  is  simply  for  exclusiveness.  The  man  who 
owns  something  capable  of  giving  joy  naively 
imagines  that  he  will  be  happier  if  he  is  the  only 
one  to  drink  from  this  inexhaustible  breast.  He  be- 
comes infatuated  with  it  and  thinks  of  nothing  but 
how  to  shut  up  his  treasure.  He  puts  up  a  wall  and 
provides  it  with  fragments  of  sharp  glass,  so  that 
the  wall  may  show  its  teeth,  so  that  it  may  be  not 
only  defensive  but,  in  some  sense,  offensive.  At 
times,  yawning  with  ennui  in  the  very  midst  of  his 
material  prosperity,  he  makes  an  opening  in  the  wall, 
only  to  correct  thia  imprudence  with  a  ditch;  and 
from  behind  this  he  seems  to  say,  "  Now  see  how 
rich  I  am;  look  and  proclaim  it  in  a  loud  voice,  you 


74  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

who  pass  by,  for  I  am  beginning  not  to  be  so  sure 
of  it  myself." 

To  shut  up  a  picture,  a  beautiful  tree,  a  sumptuous 
tapestry  for  one's  own  exclusive  benefit  is,  after  all, 
only  a  trifling  folly ;  but  there  are  some  who  under- 
take to  capture  a  river,  a  mountain,  a  horizon,  the 
sea. 

A  few  years  ago,  I  visited  the  shore  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, between  Cannes  and  Menton.  I  was  struck 
by  a  strange  thing:  the  road  that  follows  the  edge 
of  the  sea,  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  through  a  thousand 
natural  beauties,  continually  loses  sight  of  the  waves  ; 
it  seems  as  if  pushed  back,  held  aside. 

People  have  appropriated  the  horizon ;  they  have 
driven  their  fortune  like  a  wedge  between  the  divine 
sea  and  the  road  of  the  common  folk.  They  wish  to 
be  the  only  ones  to  possess  the  ocean,  dawn,  the  gold 
and  sapphire  of  moon,  the  tempests  and  the 
thunders  of  the  open  sea. 

Do  not  be  alarmed,  mistaken  brothers,  do  not 
tremble;  we  shall  not  throw  down  your  walls.  Live 
in  peace  in  your  sumptuous  prison,  our  portion  re- 
mains so  beautiful  and  so  great  that  we  shall  never 
exhaust  it. 

Close  your  gates,  you  will  not  shut  in  the  perfume 
of  your  shrubbery,  nor  all  the  wind,  nor  all  the  sky. 
You  will  not  imprison  the  fragrant  odor  of  your 
flower-beds.  We  shall  breathe  them,  as  we  pass,  lov- 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        75 

ingly,  and  continue  on  our  way.  We  shall  go  on 
still  further,  for  we  have  many  things  to  acquaint 
ourselves  with,  we  divine  so  many,  many  of  them 
that  a  whole  life  is  short  in  the  light  of  such  a  des- 
tiny. But  if  it  pleases  you  to  join  our  vagabond 
company  .you  will  discover,  perhaps,  the  other  side  of 
your  own  walls,  which  are  hung  with  flax-weed  and 
wild  geranium.  The  road  that  skirts  them  outside 
leads  to  joy  also. 

And  besides,  one  does  not  find  these  ingenuous 
walls  everywhere.  The  greed  of  men  has  not  yet 
subjected  all  the  beauty  of  things.  You  have 
snatched  up  in  your  fingers  a  fleeting  draught  of 
water:  the  ocean  does  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  it. 

You  must  understand  that  we  really  possess  noth- 
ing by  ourselves.  Veil,  if  you  wish,  the  faces  of 
your  women  and  visit  every  day  the  gold  in  the 
depths  of  your  vaults.  *•  Exclusiveness  yields  you  no 
wealth  save  that  which  is  dead  and  unproductive. 

But  he  is  truly  rich  for  whom  life  is  a  perpetual 
discovery. 

Ill 

Discovery !  It  seems  as  if  this  word  were  one  of  a 
cluster  of  magic  keys,  one  of  those  keys  that  make  all 
doors  open  before  our  feet.  We  know  that  to  pos- 
sess is  to  understand,  to  comprehend.  That,  in  a 
supreme  sense,  is  what  discovery  means. 


76  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

To  understand  the  world  can  well  be  compared 
to  the  peaceful,  enduring  wealth  of  the  great  land- 
owner; to  make  discoveries  is,  in  addition  to  this, 
to  come  into  sudden,  overflowing  riches,  to  have  one 
of  those  sudden  strokes  of  fortune  which  double  a 
man's  capital  by  a  windfall  that  seems  like  an  in- 
spiration. 

The  life  of  a  child  who  grows  up  unconstrainedly 
is  a  chain  of  discoveries,  an  enriching  of  each  mo- 
ment, a  succession  of  dazzling  surprises. 

I  cannot  go  on  without  thinking  of  the  beautiful 
letter  I  received  today  about  my  little  boy;  it  said: 
"  Your  son  knows  how  to  find  extraordinary  riches, 
inexhaustible  treasures,  even  in  the  barrenest  fields, 
and  when  I  set  him  on  the  grass,  I  cannot  guess  the 
things  he  is  going  to  bring  out  of  it.  He  has  an 
admirable  appreciation  of  the  different  kinds  of  soil ; 
if  he  finds  sand  he  rolls  in  it,  buries  himself  in  it, 
grabs  up  handfuls  and  flings  them  delightedly  over 
his  hair.  Yesterday  he  discovered  a  molehole,  and 
you  cannot  imagine  all  the  pleasure  he  took  in  it. 
He  also  knows  the  joys  of  a  slope  which  one  can 
descend  on  one's  feet,  or  head  over  heels,  or  by  roll- 
ing, and  which  is  also  splendid  for  somersaults. 
Every  rise  of  ground  interests  him,  and  I  wish  you 
could  see  him  pushing  his  cart  up  them.  There  is  a 
little  ditch  where  on  the  edge  he  likes  to  lie  with  his 
feet  at  the  bottom  and  his  body  pressed  tight  against 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        77 

the  slope.  He  played  interminably,  the  other  day, 
on  top  of  a  big  stone;  he  kept  stroking  it,  he  had 
truly  found  a  new  pleasure  there.  And  as  for  me, 
I  find  my  wealth  in  watching  him  discover  all  these 
things." 

It  is  thus  a  child  of  fifteen  months  gives  man  les- 
sons in  appreciation. 

Unfortunately,  most  systems  of  education  do  their 
best  to  substitute  hackneyed  phrases  for  the  sense  of 
discovery.  A  series  of  conventions  are  imposed  on 
the  child ;  he  ceases  to  discover  and  experience  the 
objects  in  the  world  in  pinning  them  down  with  dry, 
formal  labels  by  the  help  of  which  he  can  recognize 
them.  He  reduces  his  moral  life  little  by  little  to 
the  dull  routine  of  classifying  pins  and  pegs,  and  in 
this  fashion  begins  the  journey  to  maturity. 

Discover !  You  must  discover  in  order  to  be  rich ! 
You  must  not  be  satisfied  to  accept  the  night  good- 
humorcdly,  to  go  to  sleep  after  a  day  empty  of  all 
discovery.  There  are  no  small  victories,  no  neg- 
ligible discoveries:  if  you  bring  back  from  your 
day's  journey  the  memory  of  the  white  cloud  of 
pollen  the  ripe  plantain  lets  fall,  in  May,  at  the 
stroke  of  your  switch,  it  may  be  little,  but  your  day 
is  not  lost.  If  you  have  only  encountered  on  the 
road  the  tiny  urn  of  jade  which  the  moss  delightedly 
balances  at  the  end  of  its  frail  stem,  it  may  seem 
little,  but  be  patient !  Tomorrow  will  perhaps  be 


78  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

more  fruitful.  If  for  the  first  time  you  have  seen  a 
swarm  of  bees  go  by  in  search  of  a  hive,  or  heard  the 
snapping  pods  of  the  broom  scattering  its  seeds  in 
the  heat,  you  have  nothing  to  complain  of,  and  life 
ought  to  seem  beautiful  to  you.  If,  on  that  same 
day,  you  have  also  enriched  your  collection  of  hu- 
manity with  a  beautiful  or  an  interesting  face,  con- 
fess that  you  will  go  to  sleep  upon  a  treasure. 

rv 

There  will  be  days  when  you  will  be  like  a  peaceful 
sovereign  seated  under  a  tree:  the  whole  world  will 
come  to  render  homage  to  you  and  bring  you  tribute. 
Those  will  be  your  days  of  contemplation. 

There  will  be  days  when  you  will  have  to  take  your 
staff  and  wallet  and  go  and  seek  your  living  along 
the  highways.  On  these  days  you  must  be  contented 
with  what  you  gain  from  observing,  from  hunting; 
have  no  fear :  it  will  be  beautiful. 

It  is  sweet  to  receive ;  it  is  thrilling  to  take.  You 
must,  by  turns,  charm  and  compel  the  universe. 
When  you  have  gazed  long  at  the  tawny  rock,  with 
its  lichens,  its  velvety  mosses,  it  is  most  amusing  to 
lift  it  up:  then  you  will  discover  its  weight  and  the 
little  nest  of  orange-bellied  salamanders  that  live 
there  in  the  cool. 

You  have  only  to  lie  among  the  hairy  mints  and 
the  horse-tails  to  admire  the  religious  dance  of  the 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        79 

dragon-fly  going  to  lay  its  eggs  in  the  brook,  or  to 
hear  in  early  June  the  clamorous  orgy  of  the  tree- 
toads,  drunk  with  love;  and  it  is  very  pleasant,  too, 
to  dip  one's  hands  in  the  water,  to  stir  the  gravel  at 
the  bottom,  whence  bubble  up  a  thousand  tiny,  agile 
existences,  or  to  pick  the  fleshy  stalk  of  the  water-lily 
that  lifts  its  tall  head  out  of  the  depths. 

There  are  people  who  have  passed  a  plant  a  thou- 
sand times  without  ever  thinking  of  picking  one  of  its 
leaves  and  rubbing  it  between  their  fingers.  Do  this 
always  and  you  will  discover  hundreds  of  new  per- 
fumes. Each  of  these  perfumes  may  seem  quite  in- 
significant, and  yet  when  you  have  breathed  it  once, 
you  wish  to  breathe  it  again ;  you  think  of  it  often, 
and  something  has  been  added  to  you. 

It  is  an  unending  game  and  it  resembles  love,  this 
possession  of  a  world  that  now  yields  itself,  now 
conceals  itself.  It  is  a  serious,  a  divine  game. 

Marcus  Aurelius,  whose  philosophy  cannot  be 
called  futile,  does  not  hesitate,  amid  many  austere 
counsels,  to  urge  his  friends  to  the  contemplation 
of  those  natural  spectacles  that  are  always  so  rich 
in  meaning  and  suggestion :  "  Everything  that  comes 
forth  from  the  works  of  nature,"  he  writes,  "  has  its 
grace  and  beauty.  The  face  wrinkles  in  middle  age, 
the  very  ripe  olive  is  almost  decomposed,  but  the 
fruit  has,  for  all  that,  a  unique  beauty.  The  bend- 
ing of  the  corn  toward  the  earth,  the  bushy  brows 


80  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

of  the  lion,  the  foam  that  drips  from  the  mouth  of 
the  wild  boar  and  many  other  things,  considered 
by  themselves,  are  far  from  being  beautiful ;  never- 
theless, since  they  are  accessory  to  the  works  of 
nature,  they  embellish  them  and  add  a  certain  charm. 
Thus  a  man  who  has  a  sensitive  soul,  and  who  is  ca- 
pable of  deep  reflection,  will  see,  in  whatever  exists 
in  the  world,  hardly  anything  that  is  not  pleasant  in 
his  eyes,  since  it  is  related,  in  some  way,  to  the 
totality  of  things." 

This  philosopher  is  right  as  the  poets  are  right. 
As  our  days  permit  us,  let  us  reflect  and  observe,  let 
us  never  cease  to  see  in  each  fragment  of  the  great 
whole  a  pure  source  of  happiness.  Like  children 
drawn  into  a  marvelous  dance,  let  us  not  relax  our 
hold  upon  the  hand  that  sustains  us  and  directs  us. 


Chalifour  was  a  locksmith.  I  knew  him  in  my 
childhood.  You  would  have  said  that  he  was  just  a 
simple  country  laborer.  Why  has  he  left  the  memory 
of  a  rich  and  powerful  man?  His  image  will  always 
be  for  me  that  of  the  "  master  of  metals." 

He  worked  in  a  mean,  encumbered  room,  full  of  the 
pungent,  acrid  odor  of  the  forge,  which  seemed  to 
me  a  sort  of  annex  to  those  other  underground 
vaults  that  used  to  be  peopled  by  the  earth-spirits. 

How  I  loved  to  see  him,  with  his  little  apron  of 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        81 

blackened  leather !  He  would  seize  a  bar  of  iron  and 
this  iron  at  once  became  his.  He  had  his  own  way 
of  handling  the  object  of  his  labor  that  was  full  of 
love  and  authority.  His  gnarled  hands  touched 
everything  with  a  mixture  of  respect  and  daring;  I 
used  to  admire  them  as  if  they  were  the  somber 
workmen  of  some  sovereign  power. 

It  seemed  as  if  some  pact  had  been  made  between 
Chalifour  and  the  hard  metal,  which  gave  the  man 
complete  mastery  over  the  material.  One  might 
have  thought  that  solemn  vows  had  been  exchanged. 

I  see  him  again  with  his  pensive  air  working  the 
panting  bellows  and  watching  the  metal  whose  in- 
candescence was  almost  transparent.  I  see  him  at 
the  anvil :  the  hammer,  handled  forcefully,  delicately, 
obeying  like  a  subject  demon.  I  see  him  before  the 
drill,  starting  the  great  wheel,  following  the  meas- 
urged  exigencies  of  a  ceremonial  rite.  Especially  I 
see  him  before  the  smoky  window  with  its  pale  flood 
of  light,  surveying,  with  that  fine  smile  under  his 
white  beard,  the  conquered  piece  of  metal,  the  crea- 
ture of  his  will,  which  he  had  charged  with  des- 
tiny. 

O  ancient  laborer,  great,  simple  man,  how  rich  and 
enviable  you  were,  you  who  aspired  to  just  one  thing: 
to  do  wi  11  wli.it  you  were  doinp-,  to  possess  intimately 
the  object  of  your  toil!  No  one  better  than  you 
has  understood  the  ponderous,  obedient  iron,  no  one 


82  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

than  you  has  worked  it  with  greater  love  and  con- 
stancy. 

Somewhere  there  exists,  I  believe,  an  unhappy  man 
eaten  up  with  nerves  and  stomach-disorder.  He 
lives  crouched  up  against  his  telephone,  and  sends 
his  orders  to  all  the  stock  exchanges  of  the  world. 
People  call  him  the  "  iron  king,"  for  some  reason  that 
has  to  do  with  finance.  I  don't  believe  he  has  ever 
touched  or  weighed  a  morsel  of  real  iron.  Let  us 
smile,  Chalifour!  Let  us  smile,  my  master! 

VI 

I  should  like  to  tell  you  about  Bernier,  too.  They 
say  he  is  a  very  poor  man  because  his  coat  is  all 
shiny  from  wear  and  his  shoes  have  the  weary, 
wretched  look  of  things  that  have  never  been  young, 
because  the  sweat  of  many  summers  has  soaked  and 
stained  the  ribbon  of  his  hat  and  his  baggy  trousers 
give  him  the  air  of  always  kneeling. 

Bernier  has  a  poor  little  drooping  moustache  with 
nothing  glorious  about  it.  You  know  only  too  well 
that  he  earns  a  hundred  and  twenty  francs  a  month 
in  some  government  bureau  and  that  people  say  of 
him,  "  He  's  a  poor  devil  with  a  miserable  job." 

As  for  me,  I  know  that  Bernier  is  rich,  and  I  have 
seen  him  smile  in  the  hour  of  his  wealth, —  for  the 
true  wealth  has  its  times  of  slumber  and  its  awaken- 
ings. Bernier  possesses  something  which  is  quite 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        83 

strange  and  almost  inexpressible;  it  is  a  space,  a 
white  space,  vast  and  virgin,  and  it  is  his  power  to 
be  able  to  trace  there  certain  harmonious  lines  which 
he  alone  knows  how  to  trace  in  the  right  way. 

Why  have  you  never  seen,  why  have  you  never  been 
able  to  see  Bernier  at  the  moment  when  he  begins  his 
work,  when  the  whole  sickly  light  of  the  office  seems 
concentrated  on  the  beautiful  white  page?  His  face 
is  serene,  smiling,  assured.  He  half  closes  his  eyes 
and  draws  back  his  head ;  he  holds,  adroitly  and 
elegantly,  a  certain  chosen  pen,  flexible,  with  a  good 
point,  a  pen  that  belongs  to  him  alone,  which  he  has 
prepared  for  himself  and  which  he  would  throw 
away  if  some  blundering  fool  happened  to  touch  it. 
And  then  he  begins ! 

His  kingdom  is  ranged  all  about  him:  ink  pure 
from  all  dust,  a  brightly  lined  ruler,  a  collection  of 
pens  with  all  sorts  of  points.  He  begins,  and  the 
black  line  obeys  him,  springs  up,  curves  in,  stops, 
bounds  forward  or  falls  back,  prances,  yields.  Look 
at  Bernier's  face:  is  it  really  the  face  of  that  poor 
wretch  you  have  just  described  to  me?  No!  No! 
It  is  the  face  of  a  masterful  man,  calm,  sure  of  him- 
self and  his  wealth,  who  is  doing  something  that 
no  one  can  do  as  well  as  he :  across  a  snowy,  limitless 
desert  he  directs,  as  if  in  a  dream,  a  black  line  that 
advances,  advances,  now  slowly,  now  dizzily,  like 
time  itself. 


84  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

VII 

You  are  willing  to  pay  ten  francs  to  see  an  acrobat 
or  a  trained  dog.  Perhaps  you  have  never  watched 
a  spider  about  to  prepare  its  web.  In  that  case,  do 
not  miss  the  spectacle  at  the  very  next  opportunity. 
When  you  have  had  a  good  glimpse  of  the  extraor- 
dinary creature  revolving  about  the  center  of  the 
work  and  fastening,  with  its  hind  leg,  so  quickly 
and  accurately,  the  thread  that  it  unwinds  in  just 
the  right  quantity,  you  will  be  so  delighted  that  you 
will  want  to  show  the  marvel  to  all  those  you  love. 

It  is  strange  what  a  contempt  men  have  for  the 
joys  that  are  offered  them  freely.  And  yet  this  does 
not  argue  a  shallowness  in  our  natures :  there  is  a  cer- 
tain beauty  in  our  prizing  an  object  just  because 
it  has  cost  us  some  trouble.  You  must  not  imagine, 
however,  that  the  marvels  of  nature  come  for  noth- 
ing: they  cost  patience,  time  and  attention. 

An  unhealthy  curiosity  and  the  taste  for  anom- 
alies incline  us  to  take  pleasure  in  seeing  a  creature 
perform  an  action  for  which  its  own  organism  seems 
unsuited.  It  palls  very  quickly.  For  a  long  time 
now,  for  example,  the  flight  of  aviators  has  ceased 
to  excite  our  interest :  we  know  all  about  that  unmys- 
terious  machine ;  its  very  sound  and  its  presence  in 
the  sky  defile  the  silence  and  the  space  whose  vir- 
ginity was  a  refuge  for  us.  On  the  other  hand,  I 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD         85 

assure  you  I  never  cease  to  be  fascinated  by  the 
mysterious  maneuvers  of  a  swarm  of  gnats,  their 
interweaving  curves,  the  spherical  movement  which, 
from  instant  to  instant,  transports  the  whole  group 
of  insects  and  seems  the  result  of  some  secret  pass- 
word, and  so  many  other  subtle  and  profound  mys- 
teries that  remain,  for  the  imagination,  full  of  al- 
lurement, full,  one  might  say,  of  resources. 

And  do  you  think  there  is  nothing  disturbing  in 
the  beauty  of  the  imperious  flight  of  the  great 
dragon-fly,  in  its  sudden,  meditative  pauses,  in  its 
peremptory  starts  that  lash  the  air  like  a  supple, 
furious  whip? 

To  whatever  school  of  philosophy  they  belong,  the 
great  observers  of  natural  phenomena,  the  Darwins, 
Lamarcks,  Fabres,  give  us  a  magnificent  lesson  in 
love.  But  why  do  we  nourish  ourselves  only  on  their 
harvests  instead  of  providing  our  own?  Why  do 
we  buy  and  read  their  books  without  drawing  any 
real  profit  from  them,  without  ever  taking  the  trouble 
to  look  down  at  our  own  feet,  without  ever  going  to 
live,  with  the  creatures  of  the  sand  and  the  grass, 
their  minute,  thrilling  existence,  in  which  everything 
would  be  for  us  full  of  novelty,  discovery,  sugges- 
tion ? 

VI 1 1 

The  world  is  so  generous  and  I  feel  my  heart  so 
full,  so  overflowing,  that  I  do  not  even  dream  of 


86 

arranging  in  order  all  these  things  I  have  to  say  to 
you.  I  should  wish  first  of  all  to  see  your  brow 
relax,  to  hear  you  say  that  you  are  less  dispirited 
and  that  you  refuse  to  be  bored. 

I  should  like  to  know  all  of  you,  and  each  in 
particular,  to  take  you  by  the  arm  and  walk  with 
you  through  one  of  the  streets  of  your  town,  or 
along  the  highroad  if  you  live  in  the  country.  You 
would  tell  me  of  your  cares  and  we  should  search 
together  and  see  if  there  is  indeed  nothing  in  the  uni- 
verse for  which  you  are  especially  destined,  if  there 
does  not  indeed  exist,  all  ready  for  your  wound, 
the  precise  balm  that  is  necessary  to  anoint  and 
heal  it. 

I  came  out  this  morning  from  my  shelter  of  planks. 
The  barren,  chalky  soil  that  surrounds  it  is  surely 
the  most  sterile  in  all  Champagne,  but  it  had  rained 
and  the  storm  had  brought  up  out  of  this  miserable 
soil,  which  is  almost  without  vegetation,  all  sorts  of 
kindly  odors.  They  were  worth  more  than  all  the 
perfumes  of  Florida,  for  they  were  the  humble  gift 
of  poverty. 

At  the  end  of  next  February  I  could  show  you, 
some  morning,  if  the  sun  were  out,  the  color  of  the 
birches  against  the  blue  of  the  winter  sky.  All  the 
slender  branches  will  seem  ablaze  with  purple  fire, 
and  the  sky,  through  this  delicate  flame,  will  survey 
you  with  an  exquisite  tenderness.  You  must  wait, 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD         87 

you  must  drink  it  in  deeply,  and  not  go  on  your  way 
before  you  have  understood  it.  From  it  you  will 
be  able  to  store  up  enough  happiness  to  last  you 
till  another  winter  comes  and  gives  birth  once  more 
to  this  prodigy  of  light.  ^  0 

Last  year,  during  the  hard  summer  months  on  the 
Aisne,  I  used  to  escape  each  day,  for  a  second, 
toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  from  the  overheated 
tent  where  we  carried  on  the  bloody  work  of  the 
ambulance.  One  of  my  comrades  was  in  the  habit 
of  eating  an  apple  at  this  hour.  I  used  to  ask  him 
to  be  good  enough  to  lend  it  to  me  for  a  moment. 
I  loved  to  breathe  its  delicate,  penetrating  perfume 
which,  every  day,  changed  with  the  fruit.  That  was 
indeed  a  rare,  a  beautiful  moment  amid  the  fatigues 
of  that  concert  of  suffering  and  death. 

I  requisitioned  this  imponderable  part  of  another's 
wealth;  then  I  returned  the  apple  to  my  comrade.  I 
could  have  wished  that  you  had  all  been  with  me  to 
taste  that  poignant  little  joy. 

When  peace  comes  again,  if  you  wish  to  see  me 
in  May,  I  will  take  you  out  under  the  great  sycamore 
that  is  turning  green  at  the  bottom  of  the  meadow. 
And  there  as  you  listen  to  the  flying,  the  humming, 
the  loving  and  the  living  of  the  millions  of  creatures 
that  people  its  cool  foliage,  we  shall  set  out  together 
on  a  journey  so  rare  that  you  will  leave  your  heaviest 
sorrows  along  the  way. 


88  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

IX 

Some  years  ago,  a  magazine  undertook  to  ask  a 
number  of  writers  in  what  chosen  spot  they  would 
like  to  pass  a  few  beautiful  hours.  Emile  Ver- 
haeren  answered: 

"  In  a  certain  corner  of  the  harbor  of  Hamburg." 

Verhaeren  is  among  those  who  have  revealed  to  us 
the  mournful  grandeur  of  city  views,  of  factory 
towns,  those  places  that  seem  accursed  and  from 
which  one  might  think  that  happiness  was  forever 
exiled. 

The  aspirations  of  our  souls  are  so  plentiful,  so 
tenacious,  so  fertile  that  we  find  something  to  con- 
sole us,  satisfy  us,  exalt  us  in  those  very  spots  where 
suffering  rules  tyrannically,  where  the  valley  of 
Gehenna  is  most  precipitous. 

I  visited  the  docks  of  Liverpool  with  a  sort  of 
horror.  There  were  tall  brick  buildings,  their  roofs 
lost  in  the  smoke,  windows  covered  with  grime,  their 
interiors  nothing  but  monstrous  heaps  of  cotton 
bales.  Men  were  climbing  about  there  like  flies. 
Everything  smelt  of  fog  and  mould.  Narrow  pave- 
ments, slimy  with  rain,  ran  along  by  the  dry-docks 
where  the  steamers,  like  immense  corpses,  were  being 
assailed  by  the  frantic  crowd.  The  workers  toiled 
amid  a  bombardment  of  hammers,  a  whirl  of  sparks. 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD        89 

The  drills  snarled  like  whipped  cats.  A  hideous 
light,  smothered  by  the  smoke  and  the  mist  of  the 
Mersey,  drowned  everything  in  its  fetid  flood. 

And  yet,  since  then,  I  have  often  dreamed  of  that 
terrible  spot  and  felt  the  need  of  living  there. 

For  two  years  I  attended  the  wounded  of  the  First 
Army  Corps,  all  of  them  men  from  the  north, 
stained  by  the  coal  on  face  and  chest,  men  from  the 
factories  or  the  mines.  I  walked  with  them  through 
the  smiling  landscapes  of  the  Aisne,  the  Vesle,  the 
Marne,  when  those  lovely  valleys  had  not  yet  been 
too  much  disfigured  by  the  war.  Certainly  they  all 
enjoyed  the  slopes  with  their  gracious  groves  of 
trees,  the  beautiful  cultivated  fields,  draped  like 
many-colored  shawls  over  the  shoulders  of  the  little 
hills,  but  they  all  thought  most,  with  love  and  regret, 
of  cylinders,  mine  shafts,  machines,  and  a  smoky 
horizon. 

I  can  understand  it:  one's  native  soil,  one's  own 
habitude,  the  familiar  human  landscape,  moulded 
upon  the  other  and  transfiguring  it.  Above  every- 
thing we  have  to  recogni/e  that  the  soul  is  sensitive 
to  many  infinitely  varied  and  often  contradictory 
things.  Grace  of  lines,  rustic  charm  are  qualities 
that  attach  us  to  a  country ;  fierce  and  desolate 
grandeur  is  another  such,  and  this  indeed  has  almost 
the  strongest  nostalgic  power  of  all. 


90  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

When  beauty  seems  to  have  abandoned  the  world, 
we  must  realize  that  it  has  first  deserted  our  own 
hearts. 


Between  your  five  senses,  open  like  the  dazzling 
portholes  on  the  side  of  a  ship,  do  you  really  believe 
there  is  nothing,  nothing  but  the  void,  the  night,  the 
dumb  wall? 

I  do  not  know,  I  do  not  know.  ...  I  cannot  be- 
lieve. .  .  . 

The  sound  rises,  rises  like  the  skylark,  and  the 
ear  rises  with  it.  And  then  comes  a  moment  when 
the  sound  still  rises  and  the  hearing  stops,  like  those 
birds  that  do  not  frequent  the  loftiest  altitudes. 

Tell  me,  are  they  lost  truly  and  forever,  those 
sounds  that  hold  sway  at  the  gates  of  your  soul, 
those  sounds  to  which  your  senses  are  not  equal? 

Wait !     Hope  !     Some  day  perhaps  we  shall  know. 

You  will  say  to  me :  "  The  light  is  so  beautiful,  so 
beautiful !  It  adds  luster  to  so  many  things  that  are 
dear  to  me.  Have  I  any  need  to  dream  of  other 
rays  than  these?  My  eyes  have  already  so  much 
to  do  that  they  are  overcome  by  their  delight.  The 
beauty  of  sound  and  silence  ceaselessly  intoxicates 
my  ear." 

True!  Your  soul  has  active  purveyors.  They 
do  not  leave  it  idle.  They  come  and  heap  at  its 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD         91 

feet  riches  that  demand  its  enthusiasm  and  its  so- 
licitude. 

But  often  there  is  in  your  soul  something  your 
senses  have  not  brought  there,  an  exquisite  joy,  an 
inexpressible  sadness.  Do  not  forget  that  you  live 
bathed  in  a  multitude  of  rays  to  only  some  of  which 
you  are  sensible.  The  others  are  perhaps  not  quite 
strange  to  you.  What  is  passing,  in  contraband, 
across  the  frontiers  of  your  being?  Do  not  obsti- 
nately try  to  bring  it  under  control.  Submit,  ex- 
perience, be  merely  attentive  and  respectful  to 
everything.  Some  day  we  shall  perhaps  know  more 
things  than  we  are  able  to  divine  now. 

XI 

One  of  the  greatest  delights  of  the  religious  faith 
is  to  abandon  ourselves  to  gratitude,  to  be  able  to 
thank,  from   an  overflowing  heart,  the  moral  being  ». 
to  whom  we  feel  indebted  for  our  wealth. 

Why  then,  since  I  have  long  lost  this  faith,  do  I 
still  feel  each  day,  and  several  times  a  day,  the  great 
need  of  singing  the  canticle  of  Francis  of  Assisi,  the 
lovely  canticle  in  which  he  says : 

Praise  be  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  and  unto  all  Thy  creatures, 
especially  our  gracious  brother  the  sun,  who  gives  us  the 
day  and  through  whom  Thou  showest  us  Thy  light.  He 
is  beautiful  and  radiant  with  a  great  splendor.  He  is  the 
.symbol  of  Thee,  Most  High. 

Praise  be  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  our  sister  the  moon  and 


92  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

the  stars,  fashioned  by  Thee  in  the  sky,  clear,  precious,  and 
beautiful. 

Praise  be  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  our  mother  the  wind, 
and  for  the  air  and  the  clouds,  for  the  pure  sky,  and  for 
all  the  time  during  which  Thou  givest  to  thy  creatures  life 
and  sustenance. 

Praise  be  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  our  sister  the  water, 
who  is  so  useful,  precious  and  clean. 

Praise  be  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  our  brother  the  fire, 
through  whom  Thou  illuminest  the  night.  He  is  lovely  and 
gay,  courageous  and  strong. 

Praise  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  our  mother  the  earth,  who 
sustains  us  and  nourishes  us,  and  brings  forth  divers  fruits 
and  flowers  of  a  thousand  colors  and  the  grass. 

A  poet  has  transposed  these  divine  strophes  into 
the  harmony  of  French  verse  and  sings  thus : 

I  shall  praise  you,  Lord,  for  having  made  so  lovely  and  so 

bright 
This  world  where  you  wish  us  to  await  our  life. 

Now,  I  know  very  well  that  in  this  world  I  am 
not  awaiting  life,  I  am  living.  I  know  very  well  that 
it  is  here  T  must  live  and  lose  no  time  about  it.  My 
gratitude  is  all  the  more  pressing,  all  the  more  in- 
tense. 

What  if  it  does  rise  to  an  empty  heaven,  that  in- 
finite gratitude ! 

It  will  not  be  lost.  And  is  that  heaven  ever 
empty  to  which  we  breathe  out  so  many  dreams, 
where  there  trembles  so  much  beauty ! 

The  sweetest  of  human  voices  has  said :  "  Lay  up 
for  yourselves  in  heaven  the  treasures  that  do  not 
perish."  Perhaps  we  shall  be  pardoned  if  we  dare 


ON  DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD         93 

to  murmur:  "Lay  up  for  yourselves,  in  this  world, 
the  treasures  that  do  not  perish." 

They  will  not  perish,  these  treasures,  O  my  son, 
and  all  you  whom  I  love,  they  will  not  perish  if  you 
thirst  to  discover  them  only  that  you  may  share  them 
with  others,  that  you  may  bequeath  them  to  a  de- 
vout posterity. 

They  will  not  perish  if  they  find  their  being,  their 
supreme  reason,  in  that  region  of  the  soul  where 
believers  have  raised  up  the  tabernacle  of  a  God. 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE 


DURING  the  cruellest  hours,  when  the  war 
about  me  has  been  heaping  agony  upon  agony, 
when  I  have  been  able  to  find  nothing,  nothing  to 
which  I  could  any  longer  attach  my  confidence  and 
my  need  of  hope,  I  have  often  been  surprised  to  find, 
running  through  my  head,  one  of  those  airs  that  I 
know  so  well,  those  airs  that  I  love  and  that  escort 
my  soul,  like  watchful  and  radiant  personages, 
through  the  chaos  of  the  days.  And  I  would  think 
bitterly :  "  Just  fifteen  quite  simple  notes !  but  they 
carry  a  meaning  so  beautiful,  so  profound,  so  com- 
manding that  they  would  suffice,  I  am  certain,  to 
resolve  all  conflicts,  to  discourage  all  hatreds,  if  men 
knew  them  well  enough  to  sing  them  all  together  with 
the  same  attentive  tenderness." 

It  may  be  that  the  philosophy  which  absorbs  you 
is  one  that  leaves  no  room  for  indulgence.  Perhaps 
you  feel  yourself  full  of  bitterness  for  your  fellows, 

perhaps  you  have  made  up  your  mind  not  to  see  in 

94 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  95 

the  activity  of  the  living  any  but  motives  of  greed 
and  covetousness.  Do  not  laugh!  Do  not  be  in 
too  great  haste  to  prove  yourself  right !  Above 
everything,  do  not  rejoice  in  being  right  in  so  dis- 
mal a  fashion. 

I  say  it  again,  if  certain  pages  of  Beethoven  were 
better  known  to  those  who  suffer  and  slaughter  one 
another  they  would  succeed  in  disarming  many  a 
resentment,  they  would  restore  to  many  a  tense  face 
a  soft,  ineffable  smile. 

If  you  do  not  believe  this,  you  are  not  accustomed 
to  living  among  simple  people,  you  have  never 
watched  an  irrepressible  class  of  little  children  whom 
their  master  dominates  and  calms  by  making  them 
sing,  you  have  never  heard  a  multitude  of  people 
intoning  a  hymn  in  some  cathedral,  you  have  never 
seen  a  great  flood  of  workingmen,  in  some  foul  slum, 
break  into  the  rhythm  of  a  revolutionary  song,  per- 
haps you  -have  never  even  seen  a  poor  man  weeping 
because  a  violin  had  just  recalled  to  him  his  youth 
and  the  obscure  thoughts  he  believed  he  had  never 
in  all  his  life  confessed  to  anyone. 

Think  of  all  these  things  and  then  form  some  no- 
tion of  what  it  is  the  thoughts  of  the  great  masters 
can  do  with  the  soul.  Why,  why  is  it  not  better 
known,  this  thing  which  is,  indeed,  knowledge  and 
revelation  itself?  Why  does  it  not  reign  over  the 
empires,  this  which  is  sovereignty,  grandeur, 


96  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

majesty?  Why  is  it  not  more  ardently  invoked  in 
the  hour  of  crisis,  this  that  teaches,  equally  well, 
fruitful  doubt  and  serene  resolution? 

II 

True,  he  who  says  ecstatically,  "  The  world  is 
governed  by  love,  goodness,  generous  passions,"  sur- 
renders himself  to  a  childish  error.  But  he  who 
cries,  "  The  whole  world  is  enslaved  by  egoism,  vio- 
lence and  base  passions,"  speaks  foolishly. 

As  we  look  about  us,  we  might  perhaps  imagine 
that  from  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  moral  at- 
titudes there  is  no  escape.  Must  we  believe  that 
the  spirit  of  system  has  such  an  irresistible  hold 
over  everyone  who  sets  about  the  business  of  living? 

The  world!  The  world!  It  is  much  more  beau- 
tiful and  complex  than  that.  It  always  upsets  our 
prearrangements,  and  that  is  why  we  cherish  it  so 
dearly.  But  we  also  love  to  foresee  things,  and  sys- 
tem seems  to  arrange  them  so  that  we  can. 

What  does  it  signify  in  a  world  that  is  capable  of 
everything?  Amid  the  evil  and  the  mediocre  there 
will  always  shine  forth  consolingly  something  noble, 
something  wondrous.  Is  it  not  shameful  to  predict 
the  basest  things  so  glibly  only  to  close  our  eyes  the 
more  obstinately  before  the  beauty  that  is  unknown 
and  unforeseen? 

I  assure  you,  in  spite   of  all,  that   two  lines  of 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  97 

music  can  turn  a  multitude  back  and  agitate  the 
deepest  springs  of  its  behavior.  If  the  miracle  does 
not  result  from  harmonious  sounds,  it  will  be  borne, 
perhaps,  of  ten  warm,  rhythmical  words,  or  the  sight 
of  a  statue  or  the  evocation  of  an  image. 

The  worship  of  immediate  realities  leads  us  to 
those  easy  victories  that  intoxicate  the  coarse  spirits. 
At  times  it  results  in  irreparable  disasters,  for  it  in- 
clines us  to  misprize  those  secret  and  delicate  things 
that  pave  the  way  for  the  soul's  most  daring  flights 
and  ventures. 

Some  other  time  I  shall  tell  the  story  of  the  gen- 
eral who,  in  order  to  allay  the  grievances  of  his 
mutinous  troops,  offered  them  a  cask  of  wine  and, 
thanks  to  this  blunder,  suffered  a  defeat. 

People  who  reason  in  a  wholesale  fashion  get  along 
successfully  from  day  to  day  till  the  hour  when  a 
tiny  error  destroys  their  success  forever. 

Ill 

If  the  thoughts  of  great  men  no  longer  cause  mir- 
acles it  is  because  they  are  too  little  understood, 
or  are  misunderstood,  or  are  purposely  distorted. 
You  are  mistaken  if  you  think  they  are  powerless 
because  they  are  beautiful. 

The  war,  which  has  crushed  such  great  masses  of 
men,  has  brought  us  face  to  face  with  this  melan- 
choly evidence,  it  has  enabled  us  thoroughly  to  ex- 


98  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

amine  many  individuals  and  to  put  many  experi- 
ences to  the  proof.  It  has  permitted  us  to  measure 
the  whole  humiliation  of  moral  civilization  before  that 
other,  the  scientific  and  industrial  civilization  which 
we  might  still  better  call  practical  civilization. 

Gifted,  serious,  good  men  have  said  to  me,  "  First 
of  all  one  has  to  live.  You  can  see,  in  the  midst  of 
this  hurricane,  what  would  become  of  a  people  weak- 
ened by  idealism  and  given  over  to  the  works  of  the 
spirit.  My  son  will  study  chemistry.  The  coming 
century  will  be  a  hard  one,  my  son  will  perhaps  never 
have  the  time  to  read  Emerson  or  acquaint  himself 
with  the  works  of  Bach  !  Too  bad !  But  first  of  all 
one  has  to  live." 

Does  it  not  seem  as  if  error  had  a  dazzling  power 
to  seduce  us  and  overwhelm  us?  Men  are  always 
hoping  to  conquer  it  by  yielding  to  its  demands.  No 
one  has  the  courage  to  turn  his  own  steps  away  from 
its  shifting  shore.  No  one,  for  example,  says  to  me : 
"  The  moral  culture  of  the  world  is  in  peril.  Me- 
chanical progress  monopolizes  and  swallows  up  all 
human  energy.  The  generous  soul  of  the  best  men 
is  forgotten,  in  exile.  Let  us,  with  a  common  voice, 
with  all  our  strength,  summon  it  to  come  back  to  us, 
or  let  us  go  and  die  in  exile  with  it,  in  an  exile  that 
is  noble  and  pure." 


THE  LYRICS  OP  LIFE  99 

IV 

I  shall  speak  to  you  again  of  all  these  things ;  we 
must  talk  a  great  deal  more  about  the  future  if  we 
wish  to  enter  it  without  blindness,  shame,  and  horror. 

For  the  moment,  glance  at  the  people  who  sur- 
round us,  the  restless  people  we  see  on  all  sides. 
There  are  some  of  them  who  know  what  is  beautiful. 
They  rejoice  in  it,  almost  in  secrecy,  and  despise 
those  who  do  not  share  their  faith.  As  for  the  oth- 
ers, they  do  not  know  it,  and  that  is  all  one  can  say. 
They  are,  according  to  their  several  characters,  ig- 
norant and  sceptical,  or  just  simply  ignorant.  They 
see  how  works  of  art  and  the  spirit  miraculously  sur- 
vive the  decadence  and  the  prosperity  of  empires: 
that  astonishes  them  without  convincing  them.  Many 
divine  that  this  has  something  to  do  with  a  secret 
and  sacred  power,  but  they  do  not  dare  and  they  do 
not  know  how  to  avail  themselves  of  it.  They  catch 
glimpses  of  the  feast  of  the  heroes  and  they  cannot 
reali/e  that  their  place  is  marked  and  waiting  for 
them. 

Among  my  everyday  companions  are  many  edu- 
cated men  upon  whom  the  universities  have  lavished 
their  care  and  their  degrees.  Many  of  them  are 
interested  neither  in  their  duties,  nor  in  their  com- 
rades, nor,  one  would  say,  in  their  own  thoughts. 
They  pl'*y  cards,  read  the  papers,  think  about 


100  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

women  and  complain  of  ennui,  for  the  war  has  en- 
throned boredom.  And  yet  these  souls,  I  assure  you, 
are  of  good  material  and  full  of  energy  and  re- 
source. 

What  is  to  be  done?  How  is  one  to  introduce 
them  to  a  larger,  fuller  life?  How  can  one  dare  to 
do  that  without  presumption,  and  also  without  fear 
of  pomposity?  How  do  it  with  affection,  without 
lecturing  them,  without  preaching  to  them?  How 
be  useful  and  friendly  with  simplicity?  They  have 
suffered,  they  have  experience  and  obstinate  views  of 
their  own.  They  do  not  believe  that  they  have  been 
dispossessed  of  anything.  You  have  to  listen  very 
attentively  to  hear  their  soul  groaning  in  the  depths. 

I  spoke  to  one  of  them  about  music.  He  replied 
with  an  indifference  in  which  there  was  a  touch  of 
discouragement ;  "  For  my  part,  I  don't  understand 
music.  It  can't  interest  me."  We  went  on  talking 
and  I  discovered  that  he  was  strangely  sensitive  to 
architectual  matters,  that  he  had  a  very  subtle  un- 
derstanding and  lacked  nothing  but  enlightenment, 
knowledge,  to  have  applied  himself  to  it  with  pas- 
sionate interest. 

It  is  usually  that  way.  The  field  of  moral  ac- 
tivity is  so  large  that  it  has  in  reserve  for  every  soul 
a  path  of  his  own  choice,  accessible  and  full  of  allure- 
ment. I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  single  individual 
who  cannot  end  by  meeting,  in  the  limitless  realm 


I 
THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  101 

of  art,  with  a  mode  of  expression  that  touches  him, 
conforms  quite  accurately  to  his  powers  and  tastes. 


You  see  I  have  waited  a  long  time  before  pro- 
nouncing the  word.  I  must  at  last  make  up  my 
mind  to  call  art  by  its  name.  Listen  and  do  not 
confuse  modesty  with  timidity. 

The  past  century  has  produced  important  artists 
in  every  country  in  the  world.  That  was  a  beau- 
tiful, fertile  and  truly  generous  century!  And  yet 
it  witnessed  the  birth  of  a  misunderstanding  that 
grows  more  obdurate,  that  increases  as  it  grows  older. 
Should  one  ever  allow  a  misunderstanding  to  grow 
old? 

The  romantic  writers  and,  following  them,  all  the 
artists  of  their  epoch,  intoxicated  with  their  own 
genius,  honored  art  as  a  religion.  It  was  natural 
enough  since  at  that  moment,  as  we  know,  mankind 
was  beginning  to  detach  itself  from  its  divinities,  and 
it  is  hard  to  live  without  God.  I  cannot  bring  my- 
self to  condemn  that  enthusiasm.  I  love  art  too 
well,  and  I  shall  always  hold  it  as  one  of  the  distin- 
guishing marks  of  man  and  one  of  the  greatest  things 
in  this  world. 

But  the  priests  of  this  new  God  have  acted  like 
all  priests:  they  have  hurled  anathemas  and  brought 
in  a  reign  of  intolerance.  They  have  grown  mad 


102  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

with  pride,  when  there  was  reason  and  when  there 
was  no  reason  for  it.  They  have  cried  out  at  all 
hours  of  the  day,  "  Away,  profane  ones !  "  Many  of 
them,  who  have  had  very  noble  souls,  have  dis- 
couraged, as  if  designedly,  those  whom  their  radiant 
face  has  fascinated.  Others,  instead  of  struggling, 
have  held  the  epoch  responsible  for  their  ill-fortune. 
All  of  them,  poets,  painters,  musicians,  have  let  it 
be  understood  that  they  exercised  a  divine  power  and 
that  the  mass  of  men  must  only  wonder  and  be  silent, 
without  themselves  attempting  anything  of  the 
sort. 

No  doubt  there  is  a  certain  virtue  in  this  attitude ; 
it  has  lavished  solitary  consolations  on  those  who 
have  turned  their  backs  on  fashion. 

The  worthiest  heirs  of  these  illustrious  men  have 
confirmed  their  tradition.  They  have  devised  a 
splendid  isolation,  raised  up  a  tower  of  ivory  and 
dug  all  about  it  a  moat  that  every  day  grows  deeper. 
They  have  also  stirred  up  childish  and  shame-faced 
adversaries  with  a  desire  for  the  commonest  sort  of 
popularity,  and  the  confirmation  of  billboard  success. 

Yet  humanity  is  waiting  and  longs  to  be  treated 
neither  as  intruders  nor  as  children. 

VI 

It  cannot  be  said  any  longer  that  pure  art  is  of  no 
use:  it  helps  us  to  live, 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  103 

It  helps  us  to  live,  in  the  most  practical  manner 
and  every  day. 

Every  moment  you  make  instinctive,  reiterated, 
and  forcible  appeals  to  all  the  forms  of  art.  And 
that  not  only  in  order  to  express  your  thought,  but 
still  more  and  above  all  to  shape  your  thought,  to 
think  your  thought. 

You  find  yourself  in  the  midst  of  a  landscape,  and 
there  is  an  image  at  the  back  of  your  eye.  The  man- 
ner in  which  you  accept  and  interpret  this  image 
bears  the  mark  of  your  personality  and  also  of  a 
crowd  of  other  personalities  which  you  call  to  your 
aid  without  knowing  it. 

The  day  when  the  painters  of  our  continent  in- 
vented that  convention  we  call  perspective,  they 
modified  and  determined,  for  many  long  years,  our 
way  of  seeing  things.  It  must  be  recognized  equally 
that  since  the  reign  of  impressionism  we  have  under- 
stood, possessed  in  a  new  way,  the  colors  of  the 
world. 

You  live  in  a  sonorous  universe  where  everything 
is  rhythm,  tone,  number  and -harmony:  human  voices, 
the  great  sounds  of  nature,  the  artificial  uproar  of 
society  envelopes  you  in  a  vibrant  and  complex  net- 
work that  you  ought  unceasingly  to  decipher  and 
translate.  Well,  this  you  cannot  do  without  snb- 
mitlinif  to  the  influence  of  the  great  souls  who  have 
occupied  themselves  with  those  things.  The  under- 


104.  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

standing  of  movements,  harmonies,  rhythms,  only 
comes  to  you  at  the  moment  when  the  musicians  re- 
veal their  secret  to  you,  since  they  have  been  able, 
in  some  fashion,  to  interest  you  in  them. 

And  this  is  true  in  regard  to  everything.  If  you 
discover  something  in  your  environment,  if  you  per- 
ceive an  interesting  harmony  between  two  beings,  a 
curious  relation  between  two  ideas,  you  will  succeed 
in  throwing  them  into  relief,  in  giving  happy  expres- 
sion to  them,  only  by  means  of  the  poet's  art,  and 
if  you  cannot  find  terms  and  images  of  your  own, 
you  can  freely  borrow  them  from  Hugo,  from 
Baudelaire,  from  those  unknown  artists  who  have 
elaborated  the  common  language  of  men. 

We  do  not  think  alone.  Resign  yourself,  there- 
fore, to  being  the  delighted  prisoner  of  a  vast,  human 
system  from  which  you  cannot  escape  without  error 
and  loss.  Become,  with  good  grace,  the  friend  and 
the  guest  of  great  men. 

VII 

They  will  introduce  you  to  a  profound,  passionate, 
lyrical  life.  They  will  aid  you  to  possess  the  world. 
Art  is  not  simply  a  manner  of  moving  the  pencil,  the 
pen  or  the  bow.  It  is  not  a  secret,  technical  process. 
It  is,  above  everything  else,  a  way  of  living. 

If  your  business  is  to  grow  wheat  or  to  smelt  cop- 
per, perform  it  with  interest  and  skill.  That  will 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  105 

render  service  to  other  men  whose  function  is  to 
assemble  colors,  shapes,  words  or  sounds.  They 
will  know  how  to  render  service  to  you,  in  their  own 
fashion,  repay  you  in  turn.  But  do  not  imagine  that 
their  works  are  destined  merely  to  divert  your  leisure. 
They  have  a  more  sacred,  a  more  beautiful  mission: 
that  of  placing  you  in  possession  of  your  own  wealth. 

Art  is  the  supreme  gift  that  men  make  of  their 
discoveries,  their  riches. 

No  one  has  possessed  the  world  better  than  Lu- 
cretius, Shakespeare  or  Goethe.  What  do  you  know 
of  Croesus,  who  heaped  up  his  gold  to  such  an  ab- 
normal and  monstrous  degree?  Nothing  has  re- 
mained of  that  chimerical  fortune  but  a  vague  mem- 
ory. But  the  fortune  of  Rembrandt  has  become  and 
will  remain  the  fortune  of  our  race. 

To  follow  the  example  of  these  masters  is  not  so 
much  to  try,  with  pen  or  palette  in  hand,  to  imitate 
them,  as  to  understand  with  them,  and  thanks  to 
them,  what  they  have  understood. 

This  cannot  hurt  your  pride  or  hinder  the  expan- 
sion of  your  own  personality.  Quite  the  contrary. 
This  studious  humility  is  the  surest  path  toward  the 
conquest  of  your  own  soul.  The  anatomists  will  ex- 
plain to  you  that  the  human  embryo  adopts  success- 
ively, in  its  quick  evolution,  all  the  forms  the  species 
has  known  before  its  actual  flowering.  This  great 
law  rules  also  in  the  moral  order,  and  do  not  count 


106  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

on  escaping  it.  It  is  bj  first  knowing  the  world 
through  the  masters  that  you  will  succeed  some  day 
in  grasping  it  in  your  hands,  dominating  it  yourself. 
Ambition  is  an  intoxicating  passion,  but  to  go  to 
school  to  genius  is  a  prudent  measure  and  a  sweet 
experience,  too. 

VIII 

If  you  are  unhappy,  oppressed,  if  you  have  melan- 
choly doubts  of  your  future,  of  your  ability,  of  your 
power  to  love,  and  if  nothing  in  heaven  replies  to 
your  prayer,  to  your  need  for  deliverance,  remember 
that  you  are  not  abandoned  without  resource.  Men 
remain  to  you.  The  best  among  them  have  made  for 
your  consolation,  for  your  redemption,  statues,  books 
and  songs. 

Open  one  of  these  books,  therefore,  and  plunge  into 
it !  Sink  into  it  as  into  a  cool  forest,  as  into  a  deep, 
running  brook. 

A  man  is  speaking  to  you  of  himself  or  of  the 
world.  Read !  Read  on !  Little  by  little  the  har- 
monious voice  envelopes  you,  cradles  you,  lifts  you 
up  and  suddenly  bears  you  away.  The  tightness  in 
your  throat  seems  to  relax,  you  breathe  with  a  sort 
of  fervor  and  exaltation.  Generous  tears  start  to 
your  eyes  or  your  whole  soul  shakes  with  laughter. 

This   great   and   wholesome  exaltation   people   at- 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  107 

tribute  to  the  miraculous  presence  of  beauty.  No 
doubt,  no  doubt !  But  that  vague  and  simple  expla- 
nation is  an  almost  mythical  one. 

For  you  must  realize  that  the  man  with  whom  you 
have  just  been  having  a  sort  of  intimate  colloquy  has 
comforted  you  and  carried  you  out  of  yourself 
mainly  because  he  has  been  able  to  prove  to  you  that 
you  were  neither  abandoned,  nor  destitute,  nor  truly 
disgraced.  He  has  seemed  to  you  great  but,  in  re- 
calling to  you  that  you  are  of  the  same  race  as  him- 
self, he  has  effaced  himself  before  you.  He  has  given 
you  happy,  courageous,  new  tlwxights,  and  you  have 
suddenly  seen  that  you  were  thinking  them  also. 
For  a  second  you  have  both  communed  together. 
And  you  have  felt  yourself  once  more  in  possession 
of  a  treasure  that  was  escaping  you. 

It  is  true,  all  these  thoughts  are  your  own,  since 
it  is  enough  for  you  to  see  them  in  writing  to  recog- 
nize them.  It  is  true,  you  too  have  your  grandeur, 
your  nobility  and  infinite  resources.  How  could 
you  have  forgotten  it  for  a  moment?  It  is  enough 
for  you  to  open  that  book  or  to  hum  that  song  to 
remember  it.  It  is  true,  your  life  also  is  astonish- 
ing and  full  of  adventures.  How  (lid  you  fall  into 
that  despair?  What  did  that  discouragement  sig- 
nify? 


108  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

IX 

During  the  winter  of  1917,  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  young  provincial  musician  who  was  serving 
in  the  same  unit  with  me.  At  Soissons  we  found 
a  room  where  we  were  able  to  meet  and  play  to- 
gether. 

Our  new  comrade  was  a  simple  man  with  a  coun- 
try accent. 

He  played  the  violin  carefully  and  with  talent. 
Often,  during  our  concerts,  we  watched  his  face  as  it 
bent  over  the  instrument,  and  it  seemed  to  us  that  in 
those  moments  that  humble  violinist  was  in  communion 
with  the  great  souls  of  Bach,  Beethoven,  and  Franck, 
that  he  was  holding  a  brotherly  and  affectionate  con- 
versation with  them.  I  felt  then  that  he  had  nothing 
to  envy  in  the  princes  of  this  world.  And  it  is  a 
fact,  I  believe,  that  he  did  not  envy  them  anything. 

Do  not  tell  me  that  you  do  not  know  how  to  play 
any  instrument.  That  signifies  nothing.  There  are 
two  skilful  professional  musicians  in  my  group  who 
play  their  instruments  only  just  enough  to  enable 
them  not  to  lose  practice  for  their  calling.  They 
are  a  sort  of  mechanicians.  As  for  you,  you  have  a 
heart,  ears,  and  a  memory.  And  that's  the  main 
thing. 

Believe  that  what  you  hold  in  your  memory  is  more 
precious  than  everything  else,  for  you  carry  that 


THE  LYRICS  OF  LIFE  109 

with  you  wherever  you  go,  through  all  your  days. 

Do  you  think  I  can  ever  bore  myself,  with  all  those 
thousands  of  airs  that  sing  in  my  head,  that  se- 
cretly accompany  all  my  thoughts  and  offer  a  sort 
of  harmonious  comment  upon  all  the  acts  of  my  life? 

If  this  does  not  seem  possible  to  you,  remember 
that  you  possess  the  immense  library  of  humankind 
and  all  its  museums.  Think  of  all  you  have  read 
and  admired.  Think  of  it  with  pride  and  affection. 
Think  of  all  that  remains  to  you  to  see  and  to  read 
and  tell  yourself  how  marvelous  it  is  to  be  so  igno- 
rant as  to  have  such  riches  in  reserve,  to  have  such 
treasures  to  conquer. 

Amid  the  ordeals  and  the  disillusionments  of  your 
existence,  lift  your  soul  every  day  toward  those  di- 
vine brothers  who  are  our  masters,  and  repeat  with 
a  proud  humility:  "  It  is  sweet  to  sit  down  at  your 
feast !  And  how  good  to  think  that  it  is  to  you  we 
owe  our  opulence  and  our  prosperity !  " 


VI 
SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION 


IF,  concerning  an  old  man,  some  one  said  to  us : 
"  He  has  been  perfectly  happy  all  his  life,  he  is 
going  to  die  without  ever  having  suffered,"  we  should 
be  incredulous  at  first ;  then,  if  we  were  obliged  to 
admit  the  truth  of  the  remark,  we  should  feel  for 
this  old  man  not  so  much  envy  as  pity.  With  our 
astonishment  would  be  mingled,  in  spite  of  all,  some- 
thing a  little  like  contempt. 

Happiness  is  our  aim,  the  final  reason  for  our 
living.  But  is  it  fair  to  say  that  sorrow  is  opposed 
to  happiness? 

There  are  sorrows  that  one  cannot,  that  one  should 
not,  escape.  They  are  the  very  price  we  pay  for 
happiness.  It  is  by  means  of  them  that  WP  travel 
toward  otir  own  d«"  ;-lopment.  They  prepare  us  for 
joy  and  render  us  worthv  of  it.  Without  them, 
could  we  ever  know  that  we  were  happy? 

If  I  believed,  O  my  unknown  friend  for  whom  today 
110 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       111 

I  am  hoping  these  consolations,  if  I  believed  that 
you  could  reach  happiness,  that  is  to  say,  the  har- 
monious prosperity  of  your  soul,  without  experienc- 
ing any  agonies,  I  should  not  undertake  to  praise 
your  suffering.  But  you  suffer,  I  know  it,  and  you 
are  called  to  other  sufferings.  Henceforth  I  shall 
not  refrain  from  praising  what  wounds  you.  For 
one  does  not  console  anyone  by  depreciating  his 
grief,  but  by  showing  him  how  beautiful,  how  rare, 
how  desirable  it  is,  and  your  suffering  can  truly  be 
called  that. 

I  do  not  dream,  then,  of  depriving  you  of  your 
wealth.  I  only  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  ap- 
preciate its  full  value.  I  beg  that  you  will  pardon 
me  if  I  chance  to  hurt  you  by  placing  my  hand  upon 
your  wound.  I  do  it,  you  may  be  sure,  with  the 
affection  and  the  solicitude  of  a  man  who  has  con- 
secrated his  life  to  such  tasks. 

They  will  tell  you,  my  friend,  that  I  am  seeking  to 
flatter  your  distress  by  reasonings  that  are  full  of 
guile,  that  I  am  singing  to  lull  you  to  sleep  and 
deceive  you,  that  I  am  dressing  in  the  gilded  clothes 
of  an  age  that  is  past  the  black  demon  that  torments 
you.  Let  me  still  have  your  confidence:  I  have  only 
one  ambition, —  it  is  your  own  greatest  joy.  I 
could  not  lead  you  astray  without  shame  and  without 
deceiving  myself;  for  are  you  not  indeed  myself,  O 
my  friend? 


112  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

II 

There  are  some  material  fortunes  which  humble 
and  reasonable  men  do  not  desire  because  they  divine, 
in  spite  of  the  pleasures  that  result  from  them,  what 
a  crushing  load  they  are. 

By  contrast,  among  the  spiritual  riches  that  we 
are  able  to  possess,  grief  seems  surrounded  by  a 
simple  aureole.  It  is  tyrannical,  redoubtable,  mu- 
tilating; its  favorites  are  its  victims.  It  does  not 
descend  upon  its  chosen  ones  with  the  softness  of  a 
dove,  it  pounces  like  a  bird  of  prey,  and  those  whom 
it  carries  off  into  the  sky  bear  upon  their  sides  the 
marks  of  its  clenched  claws. 

But  it  is  the  sign  of  life ;  of  all  our  possessions 
it  is  the  last  to  leave  us,  it  is  the  one  that  escorts  us 
to  the  brink  of  the  abyss. 

It  gives  us  the  measure  of  man.  He  who  has  not 
suffered  always  seems  to  us  a  little  like  a  child  or 
a  pauper. 

The  bitterness  of  men  who  have  been  often  visited 
by  sorrow  is  so  truly  a  treasure  that,  if  they  could, 
they  would  not  rid  themselves  of  it  for  anything  in 
the  world:  it  resembles  authority. 

Through  his  tears,  through  his  martyrdom,  he  who 
is  charged  with  a  great  sorrow  feels  that  he  is  the 
abode  of  some  terrible  thing  that  is  also  sacred  and 
majestic.  Great  griefs  command  our  respect.  Be- 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       113 

fore  them  knees  tremble  and  heads  bow  as  in  the  pres- 
ence of  thrones  and  tabernacles. 

He  who  has  suffered  greatly  makes  us  feel  timid 
and  humble  before  him.  He  knows  things  that  we 
can  only  guess.  We  gaze  upon  him  with  passionate 
admiration  as  upon  a  traveller  who  has  journeyed 
over  oceans  and  explored  far  countries.  It  is  at  the 
time  of  his  first  wounds  that  the  young  man  dis- 
covers his  soul  and  plumbs  his  inner  nobility. 

Our  grief  is  so  precious  a  blessing  that  for  its 
sake  we  dread  inquisitive  contacts.  We  preserve  it 
jealously  from  the  touch  of  those  who  might,  through 
clumsiness  or  stupidity,  debase  this  terrible  and  pre- 
cious treasure.  We  long  only  that  people  should 
leave  us  alone  with  this  bitter  possession !  Let  them 
beware  of  frustrating  us  when  they  imagine  that  they 
are  working  for  our  relief! 

When  sorrow  leaves  us  too  soon,  we  feel  a  sort  of 
shame  and  think  less  well  of  ourselves:  it  shone  out 
of  its  shadowy  casket,  out  of  the  deepest  depths  of 
the  chest  where  we  heap  up  our  true  treasures,  and 
now,  behold,  it  has  vanished!  We  find  ourselves  al- 
most miserable  and  utterly  dispossessed. 

The  man  who  beats  a  retreat  before  a  great  ordeal 
fills  us  with  distrust  and  pity.  Something  in  us  re- 
joices that  he  has  not  suffered.  But  something  re- 
grets that  he  has  not  given  his  measure,  that  he  has 
not  been  the  hero,  the  potent,  exceptional  man  we 


114  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

hoped  he  would  be.  And  that  is  not  a  mere  per- 
version of  our  need  for  the  spectacular:  we  are  not 
less  exacting  with  ourselves. 

When  sorrow  comes  to  us,  and  we  manage  to  es- 
cape it,  the  first  sense  of  deliverance  we  feel  is  marred 
by  an  obsjcure,  obstinate  regret,  as  if  we  had  lost  an 
opportunity  to  enrich  ourselves. 

Tell  me,  what  man  among  us  did  not,  at  the  outset 
of  the  present  great  catastrophe,  interrogate  his  own 
fate  with  a  double  anguish :  the  anguish  to  know  what 
sufferings  were  in  store  for  him,  the  fear  also  that 
he  might  not  suffer  enough,  that  he  might  not  re- 
ceive, and  quickly,  an  adequate  share  of  the  ordeal. 

Ill 

This  religious  respect  we  experience  in  the  face  of 
grief  gives  its  meaning  and  beauty  to  the  feeling  of 
sympathy. 

We  do  not  wish  to  admit  that  a  great  grief  can 
live  side  by  side  with  us  without  demanding  that  we 
should  share  it.  As  a  man.  of  lowly  station  wistfully 
approaches  the  table  of  princes,  so  we  revolve  about 
the  grief  of  others  in  the  hope  of  being  invited  to 
partake  of  it. 

It  is  an  overmastering  impulsion  that  rises  from 
the  depths  of  our  natures.  The  eagerness  we  are 
able  to  bring  to  the  sharing  of  others'  joys  is  but 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       115 

lukewarm  beside  the  insurmountable  urge  that  makes 
us  share  in  their  sorrow. 

This  is  because  our  taste  for  joy  is  stamped  with 
a  keen  quality  of  reserve,  an  irreducible  delicacy. 
The  joy  even  of  those  who  are  nearest  to  us  can 
easily  become  repugnant  to  us.  We  are  too  proud 
to  seem  eager  for  it.  True  grief,  on  the  contrary, 
attracts  us,  fascinates  us.  It  disarms  our  critical 
sense  and  leaves  us  only  an  obscure  feeling  of  envy. 

Sympathy  stirs  us  gently  without  overwhelming 
us ;  it  is  for  this  reason  too  that  we  find  it  so  full  of 
savor. 

Although  we  recoil  from  the  terrors  of  the  leading 
part,  sympathy  permits  us  to  play  passionately  the 
role  of  supernumeraries. 

It  is  not  we  who  are  struck  down  and  yet  we  can 
taste  the  mystic  horror  of  the  wound.  The  chosen 
victim  bestows  alms  upon  us  and  we  accept  them 
without  shame.  We  have  the  perfume  of  the  Host 
on  our  lips  and  it  is  not  our  blood  that  has  paid  the 
sacrifice.  We  are  the  guests  at  a  sumptuous  and 
tragic  feast.  We  bear  the  reflected  light  of  the 
great  funeral  pyre,  without  undergoing  the  flames 
and  the  destruction. 

That  explains  our  leaning  toward  those  works  of 
art  that  find  their  strength  and  their  subjects  in 
human  grief.  It  is  for  this  reason,  surely,  that  we 


116  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

love  so  dearly  to  shed  tears  at  the  theater.  The 
great  artists  have  drawn  from  grief  their  most  beau- 
tiful inspirations.  We  vow  eternal  gratitude  to 
those  who  can  revive  in  us  a  faithful  image  of  our 
torments  and  call  them  back  to  our  forgetful  souls, 
to  those  who  know  so  well  how  to  give  us  a  foretaste 
of  the  delights  that  future  suffering  has  in  store  for 
us. 

IV 

Not  all  griefs  exalt  us  and  add  to  us.  There  are 
some  that  are  sterile,  withering,  unconfessable. 

Such  griefs  bring  only  misery  and  impoverishment. 
In  the  moral  order  they  stand  for  debts  and  failures. 
However  great  may  be  our  blind  indulgence  for  our- 
selves, we  cannot,  on  principle,  impute  them  to  our- 
selves. They  do  not  bear  the  stamp  of  destiny  but 
of  our  own  baseness. 

Who,  indeed,  would  wish  to  share  them  with  us, 
when  we  do  not  even  let  them  appear? 

Who  would  wish  to  associate  himself  with  our 
weaknesses,  our  shames,  our  jealousies,  our  betray- 
als? Who  can  feel  sympathy  for  a  grief  that  dis- 
avows everything  pure  and  generous  that  exists  in 
us  ?  No  mention  is  made  of  these  griefs  in  the  Beati- 
tudes. 

Christ  himself  might  ask  us  to  kiss  the  face  of  a 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       117 

leper.     But  what  charity  could  so  sacrifice  itself  as 
to  embrace  our  shame  and  our  degradation? 

That  is  the  cup  we  must  put  away  from  our  lips. 


The  stoics  pursue  their  strange  happiness  with  an 
impassibility  that  is  worse  than  death.  Epictetus 
writes :  "  If  you  love  an  earthen  vessel,  tell  yourself 
that  you  love  an  earthen  vessel,  for  then  if  that  ves- 
sel is  broken  you  will  not  be  troubled  by  it.  If  you 
love  your  son  or  your  wife,  tell  yourself  that  you 
love  a  mortal  being,  for  then  if  that  being  chance 
to  die  you  will  not  be  troubled  by  it." 

Comes  our  wisdom  at  such  a  price?  If  so,  I  re- 
nounce and  abhor  it.  Better  trouble  and  sorrow 
than  this  inhuman  serenity ! 

Certainly  I  willingly  renounce  the  earthen  vessel ; 
the  sound  of  its  breaking  will  never  be  loud  enough 
to  interrupt  the  conversation  our  souls  pursue.  But 
those  dear  faces  that  are  my  horizon,  my  heaven  and 
my  homeland,  can  I  think  without  anguish  of  losing 
them  forever?  How  irreparably  I  should  despise 
myself  if,  on  that  condition,  I  succeeded  in  winning 
my  own  salvation ! 

This  philosophy  is  poor,  forsaken,  desperate, 
rather  than  truly  wise.  It  renounces,  by  degrees, 
everything,  for  the  sake  of  an  ironical  peace.  It 


118  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

withdraws  from  life  the  least  debatable  motives  for 
continuing  it.  It  seeks  to  close  the  heart  to  sorrow. 
But  since  that  remains  inevitable,  it  is  better  to  love 
it,  better  to  make  an  ally  of  it,  better  to  conquer  it 
by  main  strength  and  possess  it  intimately. 

Dryness.  ot  h^art  cannot  be  a  good^iin^.  What, 
is  everything  to  be  taken  away  from  me,  even  my 
grief,  even  that  grief  which  remains  to  us  when  all 
other  blessings  have  been  ravished  away? 

The  resources  of  philosophy  are  poor  and  desti- 
tute unless  the  heart  can  anoint  them,  sanctify  them, 
and  invest  them  with  its  own  supreme  authority. 

VI 

The  fanaticism  of  grief  is  a  fact  so  profoundly 
human  that  religions  and  governments  have  exploited 
it  successfully.  This  almost  mystical  passion  flour- 
ishes so  well  among  peoples  that  are  permeated  with 
the  ancient  traditions  of  suffering  and  renunciation ! 

Nevertheless,  the  path  does  not  lie  through  this 
sublime  error,  which  is  altogether  too  favorable  for 
the  enterprises  of  criminal  ambition. 

Sorrow  cannot  be  a  thing  that  one  covets.  It  is, 
it  ought  to  be,  simply  a  thing  that  one  accepts. 
Like  certain  terrible  dignities,  like  certain  over- 
whelming honors,  one  receives  it,  one  does  not  seek 
it.  Destiny  brings  a  sufficient  burden  of  mourning 
and  cruelty,  it  should  not  be  tempted.  The  noble 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       119 

life  demands  that  we  shall  be  courageous,  it  does  not 
require  us  to  be  foolhardy.  To  him  who  "  seeks 
while  he  groans,"  suffering  will  never  be  wanting. 

At  this  hour  the  whole  world  is  intoxicated  with  it, 
satiated,  it  would  seem,  for  all  time.  At  this  hour 
there  rises  an  immense  cry,  of  pity  and  supplica- 
tion. 

All  generous  souls  are  wounded  to  the  quick  and 
stagger.  It  is  not  in  the  moment  when  they  beg  for 
mercy  that  one  would  desire  a  superaddition  of 
martyrdom.  It  is  enough  to  assume  the  sanguinary 
wealth  with  which  we  are  overwhelmed. 

No  one  will  ever  be  deprived  of  it  who  lives  for 
love.  We  shall  all  be  honored  according  to  our  mer- 
its. And  we  shall  know  that  grief  is  its  own  re- 
ward ;  for  it  is  in  sorrow  and  abnegation  that  our 
soul  becomes  supremely  aware  of  the  beauty  of  the 
world  and  of  its  own  virtues. 

We  cannot  ask  to  be  indemnified  for  our 
riches.  .  .  . 

VII 

In  sorrow  shalt  thou  bring  forth  children! 

It  is  true!  Our  child  was  born  in  sorrow,  in  your 
sorrow,  O  my  friend  !  I  am  jealous  because  of  it. 
Forgive  me! 

Forgive  me,  for  your  part  is  more  beautiful  than 
mine,  inasmuch  as  it  contains  more  suffering.  Let 


120  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

me  look  upon  you  with  envy.  Let  me  think  of  my 
own  lot  with  regret. 

You  have  borne,  you  have  brought  forth,  you  have 
nourished.  It  was  not  in  my  side  that  this  little 
body  lay.  It  is  not  my  flesh  this  tender,  greedy 
mouth  has  clung  to.  I  have  known  nothing  of  that 
suffering.  You  have  kept  it  all  for  yourself.  I 
have  only  picked  up  the  crumbs,  like  a  beggar,  like 
a  pauper. 

I  have  not  suffered!  I  have  not  suffered  enough! 
I  look  on  my  happiness  as  upon  something  usurped. 
It  is  your  happiness  that  I  share.  It  is  your  wealth 
that  overflows  even  upon  me. 

I  know  that  a  day  may  come  when  we  shall  both 
suffer  together  because  of  this  son.  But  whatever 
may  be  our  common  anguish,  you  will  always  keep 
the  first  place,  you  will  always  walk  before  me. 
You  have  forever  outdistanced  me  along  the  shining 
road. 

How  can  I  help  regarding  you  with  envy,  I  who 
have  not  suffered  enough? 

VIII 

» 
Exalted  spirits,  struck  by  our  many  resemblances 

to  the  beasts,  have  striven  to  find  what  was  the  dis- 
tinguishing mark  of  man.  It  is  a  noble  solicitude^ 
for  wheresoever  the  mark  of  men  may  be  it  is  that 
way  we  must  go.  If  we  really  possess  a  character- 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       121 

istic  virtue  of  which  the  animals  are  deprived,  it  is 
that  which  we  must  exalt,  in  order  to  be  completely, 
proudly,  men. 

Pascal  said :  "  Man  is  obviously  made  to  think ; 
and  his  whole  dignity,  his  whole  merit,  and  his  whole 
duty  lies  in  thinking  rightly." 

Can  we  indeed  believe  that  no  other  being  has  this 
grandeur  to  any  degree?  Are  we  so  sure  that  "a 
tree  does  not  know  it  is  miserable  "? 

Even  art,  which  may  turn  out  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  our  redemption,  is  not  certainly  the  lot  of 
our  race  alone.  Song  and  the  dance  triumph  among 
the  animals  and  often  appear  like  the  beautiful  in- 
ventions of  a  gratuitous  activity,  with  no  other  end 
than  themselves  and  the  emotions  they  give  or  in- 
terpret. 

In  renunciation,  perhaps,  lies  our  distinction,  the 
trait  which  stamps  us  and  sets  us  apart. 

I  say  "  perhaps,"  because  animals  also  offer  us 
examples  of  abnegation.  Sacrifice  beautifies  even 
their  habits.  With  them,  too,  the  individual  sacri- 
fices himself  for  the  group,  the  hercl  sacrifices  itself 
for  the  race.  At  the  moment  when  I  am  writing 
these  lines  we  are  in  autumn ;  a  swarm  of  bees  is 
dying  of  cold  on  a  branch  beside  me.  They  are 
dying  with  a  sort  of  resignation,  in  order  that  their 
hive,  so  poor  in  resources,  may  survive  the  winter. 

Why  not  share,  then,  with  these  humble  victims, 


122  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

our  most  beautiful  quality?  Why  refuse  to  possess 
something  in  common  with  them,  since  it  is  a  virtue? 
Why  cut  ourselves  off  haughtily  from  the  rest  of 
life? 

Over  and  above  this,  the  renunciation  that  has  no 
particular  or  general  motive  of  interest,  the  pure 
and  absolute  renunciation  which  is  a  heroic  folly,  is 
undoubtedly  our  business.  I  am  not  speaking  now 
of  the  renunciation  of  the  better  religions,  the  re- 
nunciation that  counts  on  celestial  rewards,  but  of 
the  renunciation  which  is  an  end  in  itself,  which 
finds  in  itself  its  own  sorrowful  recompense. 

IX 

Can  we  ever  forget,  my  friend,  that  woman  who 
was  the  lesson  of  your  youth,  your  counsellor  and 
your  example? 

She  lived  in  that  dark,  low  room  where  you  so 
loved  to  go  and  to  which  you  used  to  show  me  the 
way,  a  way  that  seemed  to  me  that  of  veneration 
itself. 

Disillusionments,  griefs,  sickness  and,  without 
doubt,  a  great  need  for  renunciation  had  gradually 
sequestered  her  in  that  unlovely  place  of  refuge, 
encumbered  with  old  books  and  full  of  the  odor  of 
dust.  She  seemed  cut  off  from  the  world ;  but  in 
the  shadow  of  that  retreat  her  eye  sparkled  so 
vivaciously,  she  spoke  with  so  melodious  a  voice  that 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       123 

the  world  pursued  her  who  had  abandoned  it  even 
into  her  retirement:  the  friendship  of  young  people, 
that  friendship  which  is  so  pure  and  spontaneous, 
was  for  her  a  constant  testimony.  This  was  the 
only  thing  she  would  not  renounce,  her  only  orna- 
ment, her  last  elegance,  her  possession. 

Year  by  year  death  came  to  snatch  from  her  af- 
fection those  of  her  own  blood.  Every  sort  of  hap- 
piness withdrew  from  her  as  she  retired  into  her 
abode,  light  itself  she  dreaded  more  and  more,  and 
more  and  more  renounced. 

Every  time  we  passed  through  her  little  door,  so 
slow  in  opening,  we  had  at  first  an  insurmountable 
feeling  of  being  suffocated,  for  we  were  still  intoxi- 
cated with  our  radiant  life,  our  destiny  and  our 
ambitions. 

But  soon  our  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness, our  souls  recognized  the  humble,  penetrating 
odor  of  the  hangings,  and  we  found  again  that  beau- 
tiful, commanding  glance,  that  voice  with  its  super- 
natural freshness. 

Her  malady  struck  her  new  blows.  This  woman 
who  still  possessed  the  space  of  three  rooms  had  to 
shut  herself  in  one  of  them.  And  then,  even  of  this 
she  possessed  no  more  than  a  corner.  Her  world 
was  only  a  little  wall  and  the  wood  of  an  old  bed. 

That  ardent  eye  still  shone.  That  spiritual 
voice  still  prevailed.  One  day  the  voice  faltered 


124  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

and  sank,  like  a  ship  disabled  in  a  storm  which  gives 
up  all  resistance. 

That  day  we  were  sad,  sad,  we  who  had  not  learned 
to  renounce. 


Delivered  from  romanticism,  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury toward  its  close  and  the  twentieth  century  at 
its  beginning,  exalted  an  image  full  of  the  pride  of 
physical  life,  of  impetuous  health. 

Never  had  humanity  seemed  more  intoxicated  with 
its  carnal  development,  with  its  splendid  animality, 
than  at  the  very  moment  when  the  war  broke  out. 
Our  humanity!  behold  it  now,  covered  with  wounds 
so  deep  that  for  long  decades  the  sight  of  them  will 
baffle  us  and  fill  our  pity  with  despair. 

Behold  it  now,  like  a  vast  race  of  invalids.  It 
creeps  over  a  world  where  now  there  are  more  grave- 
yards than  villages. 

We  have  had  an  unparalleled  experience  of  sorrow 
and  renunciation. 

And  yet  the  desire  for  happiness  is  deeply  rooted : 
the  unanimous  voice  to  which  our  world  listens 
repeats,  from  amid  the  sobs :  "  We  shall  renounce 
nothing ! " 

To  him  who  listens  with  an  attentive  ear,  it  says 
again,  it  says  particularly :  "  We  shall  renounce 
nothing,  not  even  renunciation !  " 


SORROW  AND  RENUNCIATION       125 

But  let  us  leave  this  immense  grief  to  itself.  Let 
us  leave  it  to  satiate  and  appease  itself  with  its  own 
contemplation  —  Silence ! 


vn 

THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE 


TWO  immense  worlds  remain  faithful  to  me  when 
the  others  discourage  or  betray  me.  Two 
refuges  open  to  my  heart  when  it  is  weary,  faltering 
or  harassed  with  temptation. 

I  should  like  very  much  to  tell  you  about  them, 
since  you  are  my  friend.  I  can  tell  you,  since  you 
have  nothing  to  envy  me,  since  you  bear  within  your- 
self two  such  worlds,  two  kingdoms  that  will  submit 
to  you  undividedly,  without  contest. 

Yesterday  I  was  watching  some  prisoners  working. 
They  were  pushing  the  trunk  of  a  tree  lashed  to  a 
cart.  Sweat  was  rolling  down  their  faces,  for  the 
heat  was  great,  the  slope  steep  and  the  load  heavy. 
An  armed  soldier  was  watching  them.  Large  letters 
were  printed  on  their  clothes  to  proclaim  their  servi- 
tude. And  I  thought :  they  live,  they  do  not  look  too 
unhappy,  they  do  not  seem  crushed  by  their  condi- 
tion. And  if  this  is  so,  it  is  not  because  they  have 

the  placidity  of  beasts.     No!     Look  at  their  eyes, 

126 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  127 

listen  to  their  voices.  It  is  precisely  because  they 
are  men  and  they  carry  everywhere  with  them  two 
refuges,  whither  the  gaoler  cannot  follow  them,  two 
precious  possessions  that  no  punitive  discipline  can 
snatch  from  them :  their  future  and  their  memories. 

The  longer  I  watch,  from  close  by,  those  men  who, 
for  four  years  have  led  the  inhuman  life  of  the  army, 
the  better  I  understand  the  meaning  of  their  in- 
credible patience :  between  the  future  and  the  remem- 
bered past  they  have  the  air  of  awaiting  the  pas- 
sage of  a  storm.  They  are  gulping  down,  you  would 
say,  hastily  and  with  closed  eyes,  this  bitter  and 
criminal  present,  in  order  lo  reserve  their  hearts  all 
the  better  for  the  things  of  the  future  and  the  past. 
One  feels  in  their  conversation  only  these  two  lumir 
nous  existences.  They  seek  and  unite  them  unceas- 
ingly above  the  bloody  abyss.  I  have  also  observed 
that,  in  the  concerts  they  give  themselves  to  cheer 
their  periods  of  rest,  their  souls  always  return,  with 
the  same  rapture,  to  their  former  way  of  living,  to 
their  old  sons,  their  familiar  ways  of  being  sad  or 
joyous.  The  artistic  attempts  that  are  carried  on 
to  interest  them,  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  in 
the  formidable  present,  remain  sterile  and,  as  it  were*, 
dry. 

They  seem  to  reply,  silently:  "What  have  all 
these  things  to  do  with  us?  Isn't  it  enough  for  us 
to  live  them?  Isn't  it  enough  for  us  to  do  them, 


128  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

every  day  with  our  blood  and  tears?  Give  us  back 
our  dear  kingdom.  Give  back  to  our  souls  that 
memory  which  is  their  most  imperishable  and  mar- 
velous possession." 

II 

Between  the  future  and  the  remembered  past,  man 
is  left  to  struggle  with  what  he  possesses  least,  the 
present. 

And  yet  this  present  is  lavish  of  all  sorts  of  ma- 
terials that  we  can  transform  into  riches.  It  is  our 
liquid  fortune,  mobile  and  in  circulation.  It  is  the 
well-filled  purse  upon  which  we  draw  for  our  daily 
needs. 

It  reaches  us  out  of  the  depths  of  time,  like  a 
great  river,  loaded  with  sailing-ships  and  steamers, 
deep,  flowing,  beautiful  with  all  its  reflections,  and 
rolling  gold  in  its  sands. 

But  it  has  its  rages,  its  whims,  its  cruelties.  Ac- 
cording to  the  season,  it  overflows  and  desolates  the 
land  or  suddenly  dries  up  and  deserts  the  fields  that 
it  refreshed  with  its  floods ! 

So  be  it!  If  the  present  refuses  to  yield  its 
manna,  we  will  draw  upon  our  last  resources.  If 
the  times  overwhelm  us  with  bitterness,  we  will  flee 
to  our  refuges,  where  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
intruders  or  masters  or  tormentors. 

Common-sense   folk,  who  have   the   secret  of  de- 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  129 

basing  life  in  the  name  of  a  reason  that  is  more  mis- 
chievous than  actual  stupidity,  are  in-  the  habit  of 
devoting  an  almost  superstitious  worship  to  the  pres- 
ent reality.  To  tell  the  truth,  they  are  greatly 
afraid  that  the  taste  for  memory  and  hope  will  turn 
young  men  away  from  that  immediate  action  which 
is  necessary  for  the  conquest  and  preservation  of 
material  wealth. 

They  honor  with  great  pomp  the  origins  in  the 
past  of  those  traditions  that  are  favorable  to  them ; 
and  the  way  they  invoke  and  prepare  for  the  future 
loads  the  present  with  chains  and  shackles. 

They  dread,  in  reverie,  an  enemy  of  action.  As 
if  there  were  any  great  actions  that  have  not  their 
source  in  great  dreams! 

These  people  deceive  themselves.  They  sacrifice 
an  unequalled  consolation  to  the  needs  of  a  fleeting 
fortune.  But  do  not  imagine  that  the  failure  of 
their  fortune  leaves  these  men  utterly  abandoned : 
the  refuges  open  gladly,  even  for  those  who  have  de- 
spised them. 

Ill 

An  intimate  friend  once  said  to  me,  as  he  watched 
his  little  son  playing:  "  You  see;  he's  no  longer  the 
baby  you  knew  last  year.  He  's  another  child.  I 
have  been  cheated  of  the  one  I  had  last  year.  I 
shall  never  have  him  again.  I  have  lost  a  child." 


ISO  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

O  dear,  big  heart,  how  beautiful  and  how  unjust 
those  words  are !  How  human !  How  they  overflow 
with  ingratitude  and  with  adoration! 

You  know  quite  well  that  every  object  that  ap- 
pears on  the  horizon  of  our  souls  has,  for  us,  two 
existenfces.  One  is  sudden,  sharp,  almost  always 
penetrated  with  an  intense  and,  so  to  say,  corrosive 
flavor:  that  is  the  existence  of  the  present.  Men 
agree  in  recognizing  that  its  duration  is  hardly 
measurable.  But  the  other  existence  is  perennial,  as 
ample  as  the  measure  of  our  life  and  our  thoughts; 
in  this  sense  it  is  almost  infinite. 

Thus  each  moment  of  the  present  survives  in  mem- 
ory for  years,  and  doubtless  for  centuries,  since  pos- 
terity can  gather  up  and  prolong  the  best  of  our 
acts  and  our  works. 

It  is  true,  my  friend,  that  each  moment  dispossesses 
us,  even  of  the  object  we  never  withdraw  our  arms 
from.  The  miser,  infatuated  with  his  material 
riches,  may  well  suffer  agony  of  mind  over  them, 
but  we,  we?  Do  we  not  know  that  each  moment  re- 
stores to  us,  transfigured,  all  the  treasures  it  has 
snatched  away  from  us?  It  robs  us  of  the  frailer 
blessings,  it  offers  us  imperishable  blessings,  less 
mortal  than  ourselves. 

You  have  conquered  one  whole  happy  day.  Con- 
template without  regret  the  sleep  that  marks  its 
end,  for  you  will  continue  to  live  this  day  during 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  131 

all  the  rest  of  your  life.  And  if  this  day  was  truly 
beautiful,  do  you  not  know  that  others  after  you 
will  continue  to  live  it,  down,  ever  farther  down,  the 
succession  of  the  years? 

Let  your  son  grow,  without  too  much  anxiety,  like 
a  beautiful  tree:  the  child  he  was  once,  the  child  he 
was  but  now,  the  child  he  is  at  present,  you  will  not 
lose  them,  O  insatiable  heart !  They  will  escort  you 
toward  old  age,  like  a  beloved  multitude  that  in- 
creases every  day  and  cannot  die. 

Owing  to  the  war,  I  have  seen  my  own  child  only 
seven  times,  and  each  time  I  have  hardly  recognized 
him.  Seven  times  I  have  believed  him  lost.  I  know 
now  that  I  have  seven  lovely  images  in  my  soul,  seven 
children  to  adorn  and  hearten  my  solitude. 

IV 

There  are  beauties  which  the  present  fails  to  ap- 
preciate. That  is  natural,  because  it  is  greedy,  dis- 
ordered, care-ridden.  Memory  exists  to  see  that 
justice  is  done.  To  it  falls  the  divine  role  of  restor- 
ing and,  at  times,  pardoning.  \  It  is  memory  which, 
in  the  last  resort,  vindicates  and  judges.  It  is  in  its 
light  that  things  appear  to  us  under  the  aspect  of 
eternity./ 

None  of  our  thoughts  would  be  really  happy  that 
had  not  received  the  approbation  of  memory,  that 
did  not  find  themselves  sealed  at  last  with  its  sov- 


THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

ereign  imprint.  (  We  do  not  know  the  true  value  of 
our  moments  until  they  have  undergone  the  test  of 
memory.  Like  the  images  the  photographer  plunges 
into  a  golden  bath,  our  sentiments  take  on  color; 
and  only  then,  after  that  recoil  and  that  trans- 
figuration, do  we  understand  their  real  meaning  and 
enjoy  them  in  all  their  tranquil  splendor. 

Days  of  ours  that  had  seemed  to  us  dull  and  hope- 
less show  themselves  in  memory  luminous  and  de- 
cisive. Journeys  undertaken  without  eagerness, 
without  enthusiasm,  and  without  any  of  the  fresh- 
ness of  surprise,  become,  from  a  distance,  fruitful 
in  revelations  and  discoveries. 

Every  reality  develops  with  time  a  thousand 
aspects  of  itself  that  are  just  as  real,  as  charged 
with  meaning  and  consequence,  as  the  original  aspect. 
We  cannot  foretell  what  memory  will  contrive  for  us. 
It  is  a  treasure  all  the  more  precious  and  unexpected 
because  it  is  so  independent  of  our  rudimentary  logic. 
For  the  logic  of  memory  is  more  subtle  than  ours ; 
it  seems  entirely  free  from  our  miserable  calculations ; 
it  draws  its  inspirations  from  our  true  interests, 
which  we  ourselves  are  forever  misapprehending. 
The  slow  task  it  pursues  testifies  to  so  rare  a  virtue 
and  so  munificent  a  wisdom  that  man,  struck  with  his 
own  unworthiness,  might  well  seek  there  the  signs  of 
a  divine  intervention. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  friend,  whom  we  have  misunder- 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  133 

stood  or  misjudged,  who  takes  on  in  memory  his 
true  aspect  and  his  true  stature  and  reveals  the 
profound  influence  which,  without  our  knowing  it,  he 
has  exercised  over  our  thoughts. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  word  which  we  heard  at  first 
with  an  inattentive  or  distrustful  ear,  and  which  we 
find  again  engraved  in  letters  of  gold  over  the  por- 
tico of  the  secret  temple  where  we  love  to  collect  our 
thoughts. 

Like  some  skilful  goldsmith,  memory  seizes  the 
materials  that  our  life  accumulates  haphazard.  It 
submits  them  to  the  touchstone,  fashions  them,  em- 
bellishes them  and  imprints  upon  them  that  mysteri- 
ous sheen  which  gives  them  their  distinctive  meaning 
and  their  value. 


The  cult  of  memory  should  not  turn  us  away  from 
the  present  out  of  which  memory  itself  draws  it8 
nourishment. 

We  sometimes  meet  men  of  whom  plain  people  say, 
with  profound  wisdom,  "  Their  mind  is  elsewhere." 
It  is  true;  they  are  the  timid  and  tonm-nted  souls  who 
have  early  sought  in  memory  a  refuge  which  noth- 
ing, it  seems,  could  ever  make  them  renounce. 

Let  us  beware  of  troubling  this  retreat.  Some 
day,  perhaps,  we  may  long  for  one  like  it.  But  how- 
ever deeply  one  may  seem  to  have  taken  refuge  in 


134  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

memory,  one  cannot  escape  the  clutch,  the  invasion 
of  the  present. 

It  is  best,  therefore,  and  with  all  the  strength  that 
is  in  us,  to  accept,  honor,  love  this  present  as  the 
principal  source  of  our  riches. 

If  the  true  cult  of  memory  were  a  less  exceptional 
moral  usage,  many  men  would  hesitate  to  create  bad 
memories  for  themselves ;  for  our  worst  memories  are 
not  those  of  our  sufferings,  our  ordeals,  our  priva- 
tions, but  of  our  shameful  acts,  our  cowardices  and 
our  betrayals. 

Our  weakness  lasted  only  a  moment ;  must  we 
really,  for  thirty  years,  feel  the  hostile  stare  of  that 
moment  resting  heavily  upon  us?  Who  knows? 
Hope,  even  so,  in  the  clemency  of  memory,  which  is 
able  to  mitigate  and  pardon  everything.  It  is  in- 
dulgent and  full  of  pity.  In  a  world  given  over  to 
spite  and  reprisals,  it  remains  the  only  inviolable 
refuge  of  the  outcast,  as  the  cathedrals  used  to  be 
in  the  days  of  the  right  of  sanctuary. 

For  him  who  descends  with  true  fervor  into  his 
own  depths,  memory  always  preserves  some  corner 
pure  from  all  baseness.  Do  we  not  know,  moreover, 
that  in  order  to  console  us  memory  consents  to  work 
in  concert  even  with  its  enemy,  forgetfulness? 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  135 

VI 

Who  can  dispute  with  us  the  world  of  memory? 
No  one !  And  who  would  dare,  without  fear,  to  do 
so?  It  is  because  we  are  more  ardently  attached  to 
this  possession  than  to  any  other. 

At  times,  a  clumsy  or  malevolent  hand  succeeds 
in  smirching  one  of  our  dear  memories.  Then  we 
experience  an  indignation  and  a  despair  as  lasting 
and  profound  as  if  these  sentiments  recognized  their 
cause  in  the  loss  or  the  fall  of  a  loved  being. 

Happily  this  criminal  work  implies  a  rarely  evil 
spirit,  a  sort  of  perverse  genius  of  which  humanity 
is  none  too  prodigal.  And  then  our  memory  is  a 
territory  too  vast,  too  mountainous,  too  impreg- 
nable as  a  whole  for  the  rage  of  hostile  destruction 
to  be  able  to  defile  or  mar  large  portions  of  it.  The 
best  of  our  memories  thus  remain  in  safety  and  for 
us  alone.  Besides,  we  keep  careful  watch  around 
this  fortune. 

Our  great  memories  are  actual  moral  personages, 
so  necessary  to  our  happiness  that  we  bear  them 
under  a  sacred  arch,  sheltered  from  all  injury,  from 
all  contact.  It  is  into  this  solitude  that  we  go 
ceaselessly  to  question  them,  invoke  them,  call  them 
to  witness. 

A  past  in  common  does  not  always  give  memories 
in  common,  so  true  it  is  that  the  heart  defends  itself, 


136  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

in  its  innermost  retreat,  as  the  physical  self  defends 
its  flesh  against  the  intrusions  of  the  stranger. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  men  find  pleasure  in 
recalling  in  our  presence  the  episodes  of  an  existence 
that  was  passed,  by  themselves  or  by  them  and  us, 
in  companionship.  It  is  then  that  we  measure  the 
road  our  soul  has  travelled  on  its  solitary  path: 
these  things  of  which  they  speak  to  us,  these  deeds 
which,  it  seems,  we  have  performed,  these  landscapes 
which  they  remember  having  crossed  in  our  company, 
we  no  longer  recognize ;  we  do  not  even  wish  to  recog- 
nize them.  We  smile  in  an  embarrassed,  awkward, 
unhappy  way.  Our  whole  attitude  says :  "  Is  it 
really  true  that  we  have  drunk  from  the  same  cup? 
For  all  that,  it  was  not  the  same  wine  we  drank,  and 
my  intoxication  is  not  yours." 

We  cannot  give  to  one  who  is  dear  to  us  a  greater 
proof  of  love  than  to  admit  him  to  the  intimacy  of 
our  memories.  We  have  need  of  all  our  tenderness 
to  help  us  to  introduce  another  soul  into  the  sub- 
terranean basilica,  to  lead  that  soul  as  close  as  pos- 
sible to  the  refuge  where,  in  spite  of  all,  there  is  only 
room  for  one. 

Perfect  communion  in  memory  is  an  extraordinary 
favor,  and  an  admonition.  If  it  is  given  to  you  to 
enjoy  it,  open  your  arms  and  receive  one  elect  soul. 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  137 

VII 

No  doubt  you  have  had  the  experience,  when  pass- 
ing through  a  country  where  you  were  travelling  for 
the  first  time,  of  stopping  short,  as  you  rounded  a 
mountain,  before  some  unknown  horizon,  and  finding 
it  strangely  familiar. 

No  doubt  you  have  had  the  experience  of  arriving 
at  night  in  a  dark  square  where  you  knew  you  had 
never  been  before,  and  briskly  finding  your  way 
through  it,  just  as  if  you  were  resuming  some  old 
habit. 

At  times  the  spectacle  of  a  smiling  valley  arrests 
you  at  the  top  of  some  hill.  You  thought  you  knew 
nothing  of  this  country,  and  yet  strange  and  sure 
impressions  guide  you ;  they  are  like  old  memories. 
You  advance,  and  behold,  you  are  looking  at  every- 
thing as  if  you  recognized  it.  That  road  which 
winds  between  the  pastures,  as  supple  and  sinuous  as 
a  beautiful  river  of  vellow  water, —  you  are  almost 
certain  you  have  followed  it  long  ago,  in  some  misty, 
far-off  existence  which,  nevertheless,  is  not  your  own. 

There  are  times,  too,  when  you  arc  dreaming,  as 
you  sit  alone,  and  suddenly  a  memory  passes  over 
you:  the  memory  of  some  act  the  man  you  are  surely 
never  performed.  Yet  it  is  not  a  fabrication,  an  in- 
vention. You  know,  you  feel,  that  it  is  a  personal 
memory.  A  memory  of  what  world?  Of  what  life? 


138  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

Do  not  reject  this  shadowy  treasure,  and  do  not 
tremble !  Do  not  accept  complacently  the  explana- 
tions of  the  superstitious  or  of  the  pseudo-scientists. 
The  flesh  of  your  flesh  was  not  born  yesterday. 
Something  survives  in  it  that  is  contemporaneous 
with  all  the  generations.  Many  a  revelation  awaits 
us.  Let  us  keep  for  them  a  soul  that  is  accessible, 
experienced,  and  not  too  distrustful. 

VIII 

Do  not  imagine  that  to  possess  memory  is  to  pos- 
sess a  dead  world. 

Among  your  friends  there  is  surely  one  who  has  a 
house  and  a  garden.  From  time  to  time  he  invites 
you  to  visit  him.  Every  time  you  enter  his  house 
you  observe  some  striking  change:  he  has  connected 
two  parts  of  the  building  which  till  then  had  no 
means  of  communication.  He  has  planted  some  new 
trees.  The  old  elms  are  flourishing.  Some  rose- 
bushes have  died.  Urns  have  been  set  out  on  the 
lawn.  The  life  of  men,  of  animals,  of  plants  has 
drawn  the  inanimate  world  into  its  toils,  modeled  it, 
sculptured  it,  forced  it  to  take  part  in  the  move- 
ment of  the  soul. 

It  is  in  like  fashion  that  the  domains  of  memory 
cultivate  themselves  and  live.  They  are  not  ruins, 
inalterable,  rigid,  fixed  forever  in  the  ice  of  some 
past  epoch.  Life  still  penetrates  and  moves  them; 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  139 

they  do  not  cease  to  share  in  its  enterprises,  its  la- 
bors, its  festivals. 

When  a  man  has  opened  for  you  several  times  the 
same  gate  in  the  wall,  when  several  times  he  has  re- 
lated the  same  adventure  to  you,  with  intervals  of  a 
few  months  or  a  few  years,  observe  closely  the  spots 
to  which  he  leads  you  and  the  persons  to  whom  he 
presents  you.  Every  time  you  will  find  new  things, 
you  will  find  that  roads  have  been  laid  out,  under- 
brush cut  down,  windows  opened  and  unexpected 
supernumeraries  called  in. 

Is  it  true  then  that  that  was  a  dead  tale,  wrapped 
up  in  what  we  call  the  shroud  of  the  past? 

The  world  of  "  living  memory  "  is  so  indissolubly 
bound  up  with  our  resolutions  and  our  acts  that  in 
accumulating  memories  we  feel  we  are  preparing, 
erecting  our  future  itself. 

IX 

There  is  another  refuge! 

"  What  makes  hope  so  intense  a  pleasure,"  writes 
M.  Bergson,  "  is  that  the  future,  which  we  fashion 
to  suit  ourselves,  appears  to  us  at  one  and  the  same 
time  under  a  multitude  of  forms,  all  equally  smiling, 
equally  possible.  Even  if  the  most  desirable  of  them 
all  is  realized,  we  must  have  sacrificed  the  others,  and 
we  shall  have  lost  much.  The  idea  of  the  future, 
pregnant  with  infinite  possibilities,  is  therefore  more 


140  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

fertile  than  the  future  itself,  and  that  is  why  we  find 
more  charm  in  hope  than  in  possession,  in  reverie 
than  in  reality." 

The  idea  of  the  future  alone  interests  us :  that 
*alone  is  our  treasure,  that  alone  is  endowed  with  ex- 
istence. It  is  that  indeed  which  we  call  the  future. 
And  if  M.  Bergson,  at  the  end  of  these  admirable 
lines,  creates  a  distinction  between  the  future  and 
the  idea  of  the  future,  he  does  not  make  us  forget 
that  he  has  just,  and  as  if  by  design,  caused  the 
confusion ;  for  what  "  we  fashion  to  suit  ourselves  " 
is  the  idea  of  the  future,  and  nothing  else.  But, 
following  the  example  of  M.  Bergson,  let  us  call 
our  idea  of  the  future  the  future  itself. 

This  idea  is  our  cherished  fortune.  Certainly  we 
take  a  passionate  interest  in  seeking,  in  what  flows 
out  of  the  present,  something  that  resembles  the 
realization  of  our  dreams.  And  yet  their  realization, 
like  their  failure,  marks,  in  every  sense,  their  end, 
their  exhaustion.  And  that  is  insupportable  to  us. 
Whatever  fate  the  present  reserves  for  our  imagin- 
ings, we  labor  every  day,  as  fast  as  time  devours 
them  and  destroys  them  by  making  them  finite,  to 
push  them  further  back  into  the  infinite,  to  prolong 
them,  to  reconstruct  them,  so  that  we  may  never 
have  less  of  a  future  at  our  disposal. 

This  need  of  a  future,  which  has  no  other  connec- 
tion than  our  hope  with  the  rugged  actuality  of  the 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  141 

present,  is  so  deep-rooted,  so  generally  human  a 
thing,  that  one  cannot  contemplate  it  without  a  re- 
spect which  is  almost  religious.  In  order  that  this 
future,  so  pregnant  with  dreams,  should  be  as  neces- 
sary as  it  is  to  the  moral  life  of  most  men,  it  must 
represent  a  truly  incomparable  treasure.  The  em- 
brace we  throw  around  it  is  the  close  and  powerful 
embrace  we  reserve  for  those  possessions  that  lie 
nearest  our  hearts.  And,  since  we  have  already  de- 
tached the  word  "  possession  "  from  the  gross  mean- 
ing that  is  usually  attributed  to  it,  let  us  say  that 
the  possession  of  a  dream,  when  it  assures  our  hap- 
piness, is  a  reality  less  debatable  and  less  illusory 
than  the  possession  of  a  coal-mine  or  a  field  of 
wheat. 

But  as  there  is  no  possession  without  conquest, 
without  effort,  we  must  merit  our  dreams  and  culti- 
vate them  lovingly. 

If  people  who  have  taken  the  mould  of  reason  re- 
proach us  with  distracting  for  a  moment  the  men  of 
that  practical  reality  which  pretends  to  be  prepar- 
ing the  future,  we  are  ready  to  reply  to  them: 

"  Glance  at  those  men  to  whom  our  words  are 
addressed.  You  know  that  they  are  crushed  with 
fatigue  and  privation.  They  have  experienced 
every  danger  and  every  sort  of  weariness.  By  what 
right  will  you  hinder  them  from  taking  refuge  in 
a  world  which  is  henceforth  the  least  contestable  of 


142  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

their  domains?  Do  not,  on  their  account,  be  afraid 
of  reverie ;  it  could  never  fill  them  with  as  much 
bitterness  as  does  this  modern  reality  of  which  you 
are  the  unpunished  builders. 

"  If  you  are  not  weary  of  glimpsing  your  future 
through  the  specifications,  the  account-books,  the 
cage-bars,  and  the  unbreathable  fumes  of  industrial- 
ism, at  least  allow  these  to  cherish  a  marvelous  and, 
in  spite  of  all  its  disappointments,  an  efficacious  fu- 
ture. It  is  not  a  question  of  forgetting  life, —  that 
is  too  beautiful  and  too  desirable,  but  rather  of  am- 
plifying and  fertilizing  it.  Whatever  may  be  the 
outcome  of  a  generous  dream,  it  always  ennobles  the 
man  who  has  entertained  it.  Allow  the  unhappy  to 
be  rich  in  a  possession  that  costs  them  only  love  and 
simple  faith.  Do  not  let  your  reason  dispossess 
them  of  the  only  treasure  that  your  greed  has  not 
been  able  to  snatch  from  them.  It  is  the  cult  of 
the  future  and  of  memory  that  sustains  man  in  the 
uncertainty  of  the  present  hour.  If  he  walks  by 
instinct  towards  these  refuges,  do  not  turn  him 
aside,  and  think,  O  priests  of  reason,  of  the  warning 
of  Pascal :  "  It  is  on  the  knowledge  of  the  heart 
and  of  the  instincts  that  Reason  has  to  lean,  and  es- 
tablish there  the  whole  of  her  discourse." 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  143 


I  have  seen  thousands  of  men  suffer  and  die. 
Every  day  I  see  new  ones  enter  the  somber  arena  and 
struggle.  My  part  is  to  help  them  in  this  torment, 
to  assure  them  aid  and  hope.  I  have  a  wide  expe- 
rience of  these  things  now  and  I  know  that  men  are 
never  denied  a  future,  even-  when  life  is  on  the  point 
of  betraying  them. 

Philosophers  and  poets,  led  astray  by  religion  or 
by  a  mystical  passion  for  death,  have  given  the  severe 
counsel  that  we  should  never  conceal  from  the  dying 
the  approach  of  their  annihilation.  It  is  a  theo- 
retical view  of  charity,  an  artificial,  mischievous  doc- 
trine that  does  not  stand  the  test,  that  should  not 
be  put  to  the  test.  Its  partisans  suspect  falsehood 
where  there  is  only  pity  and  modesty,  for  it  is  not 
the  part  of  man  to  be  so  proud  of  his  own  judgment 
as  to  take  away  from  someone  with  the  certitude  of 
life  that  fabulous  future  which  is  more  precious  than 
life  itself. 

I  remember,  in  1915,  a  wounded  man,  who  had 
just  received  the  visit  of  a  priest  moved  by  praise- 
worthy intentions  and  a  clumsy  exaltation,  saying 
to  me  suddenly,  "  I  know  now  that  I  am  going  to 
die!  "  and  beginning  to  weep  terribly.  I  went  to  see 
the  priest  and  reproached  him  for  his  behavior. 
"  What !  "  that  eloquent  man  replied  haughtily,  "  do 


144  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

you  who  are  incapable  of  preserving  this  unhappy 
man's  earthly  life  blame  me  for  assuring  him  his  fu- 
ture life?"  Alas!  Alas!  I  still  think  of  the  sobs 
of  that  wounded  man;  they  were  those  of  one  who 
has  just  lost  his  supreme  wealth  and  to  whom  noth- 
thing  else  can  make  amends. 

Soldiers  who,  in  the  full  vigor  of  their  youth, 
suffer  a  severe,  a  final  mutilation  experience  at  first 
what  is  like  a  veritable  amputation  of  their  future, 
so  true  is  it  that  every  part  of  our  physical  self  is 
intimately  bound  up  with  the  labors  of  our  dream. 
Then,  with  surprising  rapidity,  and  long  before  the 
disorder  of  the  tissues  has  been  exorcised,  one  sees 
them  filling  in  the  moral  breach,  raising  up  the 
crumbled  wall,  propping  it  hastily  and  reconstruct- 
ing, quite  as  new  but  quite  complete  and  tightly  shut, 
the  sacred  fortress  outside  which  their  soul  remains 
vulnerable  and  disarmed. 

In  truth,  the  man  who  is  condemned  to  death  is 
still  rich  in  the  future,  even  when  his  body  sinks,  ten 
times  pierced  by  bullets,  even  when  he  has  only  one 
drop  of  blood  left,  one  flickering  spark  of  life. 

XI 

O  present  hour,  magnificent,  foaming  fountain, 
you  know  very  well  that  we  shall  be  faithful 
to  you !  With  your  thousand  animated  faces,  your 
landscapes,  your  problems,  your  combats  and  that 


THE  SHELTER  OF  LIFE  145 

heavy  burden  of  jostling  ideas  you  carry  with  you, 
you  will  always  attract  us,  you  will  see  us  all  to- 
gether drinking  of  your  waters. 

But  when  you  no  longer  contain  for  us  anything 
but  anger  and  hatred,  greed  and  cruelty,  then  indeed 
we  must  each  of  us  abandon  you  and  turn  to  our 
refuges ;  we  must  each  of  us  withdraw  into  the 
Thebaid  where  all  things  still  respond  to  our  voice,  to 
our  voice  alone. 

May  our  fate  preserve  us  from  the  greatest  of  all 
misfortunes !  May  our  refuges  never  lose  in  our 
eyes  their  virtue  and  their  security !  This  supreme 
affliction  at  times  befalls  us,  and  it  is  then  that  our 
souls,  exiled  from  their  homeland,  must  set  them- 
selves humbly  to  the  search  for  the  lost  grace. 


VIII 
THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES 


WHAT  man,  tell  me,  what  man,  were  he  sud- 
denly delivered  from  disgust  with  himself, 
from  terror  of  the  world,  from  the  sadness  of  an 
age  that  is  without  pity,  from  remorse  for  a  thing  he 
has  done,  from  the  fear  of  things  he  has  to  do,  what 
man,  suffering  from  one  of  these  evils,  or  from  sev- 
eral of  them  or  from  all  at  once,  would  not  experi- 
ence an  immense  relief,  would  not  feel  a  certain  ab- 
solution for  the  errors  of  the  universe,  a  certain  al- 
Jeyiation  of  his  own  in  the  contemplation  of  this 
little  osier-bed  which  I  descry  this  evening,  at  the 
turning  of  a  lane? 

What  is  there  so  profound,  so  divine  in  that 
scene  ? 

Nothing,  nothing,  no  doubt.  Everything,  per- 
haps. For  who  would  venture  to  maintain  that 
there  is  anything  in  the  world  that  might  not  be  a 
sign  for  my  heart  and  yet  be  nothing  more? 

I    was    following    a    stone    wall,    an    indecipherable 

146 


THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       147 

wall  at  present,  without  significance,  without  com- 
passion, an  enemy.  It  shut  in  my  view  and 
my  thoughts,  it  was  covered  with  cold  mosses 
and  all  the  dampness  of  winter.  And  then, 
all  at  once,  the  wall  ended  and  there  was  a  little 
valley  crowned  with  these  osiers.  Yes,  I  mean 
crowned,  for  it  seemed  as  if  all  its  desires  had  been 
granted,  all  its  aspirations  satisfied,  all  its  prayers 
fulfilled. 

Thousands  of  crimson  branches  rose  in  a*  chorus 
toward  heaven,  like  clusters  of  some  smooth,  straight, 
up-springing  coral.  All  the  branches  rose  together, 
with  one  brotherly  impulse,  like  the  desires  of  a 
world  freed  from  ambitions  and  vowed  to  the  one, 
the  noblest  ambition  of  all.  But  why  seek  for 
words,  why  strive  to  paint  it?  Surely  it  was  not 
the  flaming  sap  of  the  young  shoots  any  more  than 
the  little  rivulets  smoking  like  censers  at  their  feet, — 
it  was  neither  of  these  things  that  promised  relief 
and  deliverance.  It  was  the  entire  world  that  mani- 
fested itself  in  this,  its  smallest  fragment,  just  as 
the  most  secretive  man  will  betray  himself  by  the 
trembling  of  his  little  finger  or  the  flutter  of  an 
eyelash. 

II 

I  was  once  saved  by  the  tarpaulin  of  a  humble  de- 
livery wagon.  That  tarpaulin  certainly  knew  no 


148  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

more  about  it  than  did  the  men  who  owned  it,  or  had 
the  use  of  it  here  below.  There  are,  in  every  object, 
qualities  we  are  ignorant  of  and  that  are  precisely 
those  through  which  this  object  fulfils  its  most  beau- 
tiful role  in  the  universe,  those  to  which  it  inclines 
as  if  toward  some  miraculous  purpose,  which  are 
indeed  its  vocation  and  its  true  destiny. 

I  remember  it  was  a  morning  in  February,  one  of 
those  hopeless  mornings  which  we  feel  do  not  deserve 
the  evening  and  will  hardly  attain  it.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  had  done  to  myself  or  to  my  men  to 
have  so  completely  lost  all  courage  and  purpose;  but 
that  morning  I  was  certainly  the  most  destitute  of 
beings  and  the  least  worthy  of  an  act  of  grace. 

Yet  for  all  that,  grace  was  shown  me,  for  that 
marvelous  tarpaulin  appeared.  It  was  of  heavy  can- 
vas, yellow  and  green.  Its  color,  its  folds,  its  whole 
appearance,  the  form  it  concealed,  in  fact  I  know 
not  what  element  in  it,  showed  me  that  I  still  could 
live,  that  my  faults  were  forgiven  me,  that  nothing 
about  me  was  irremediable. 

I  am  willing  to  pass  for  a  man  who  is  eager  for 
forgiveness,  a  man  who  is  satisfied  with  little.  We 
wish  to  set  our  own  value  on  everything,  as  if  the 
things  of  the  spirit  meant  the  same  thing  as  money, 
as  if  they  did  not  depend  upon  quite  another  spirit 
than  that  of  the  accountants  and  geometricians. 

I  met   a  priest, —  it  was  since  the  war  began, — 


THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       149 

with  whom  I  often  talked  about  penance  and  con- 
trition. I  asked  him  one  day  what  price  he  would 
ask  for  the  remission  of  the  heaviest  burden  on  one's 
conscience.  He  answered  without  hesitation : 
"  Three  paters  and  three  aves."  This  man  was  cor- 
rupted by  the  customs  of  the  world  and  its  au- 
thorities. He  filled  me  with  a  sort  of  desire  to  in- 
sult him,  and  I  confess  I  gave  him  some  rude  shocks. 
Since  then  I  have  reflected.  I  have  not  become 
reconciled  to  the  memory  of  that  priest,  but  I  believe 
that  grace  touches  us  in  a  most  unforeseen  way ;  it 
shines  out  suddenly,  without  any  reason,  like  the 
radiant  blue  in  a  sky  where  one  has  not  expected  it. 
It  manifests  itself  without  regard  to  the  efforts  we 
make  to  deserve  it,  and  the  occasions  it  selects  are 
not  in  proportion  to  our  distress.  But  how  sov- 
ereign it  is,  how  much  the  most  desirable  of  all  bless- 
ings ! 

Remember,  remember !  you  were  walking  through 
the  streets,  a  prey  to  some  irremediable  pain.  Your 
poverty  seemed  unlimited,  for  it  could  not  be  palliated 
by  more  money,  an  improvement  in  your  health  or 
the  renewal  of  a  broken  friendship.  And  yet,  never- 
theless, you  suddenly  breathed  in  the  wind  an  im- 
perceptible odor,  familiar,  charged  with  memories, 
you  suddenly  encountered  in  the  color  of  a  house,  or 
in  the  look  of  an  unknown  face,  some  mysterious  sign, 
and  you  felt  that  your  wealth  had  been  given  back 


150  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

to  you,  that  it  flowed  through  you  once  more  as  the 
saving  blood  returns  to  the  heart  of  the  dying  man. 
I  was  walking  one  day  along  the  banks  of  the 
Aisne,  the  prey  of  an  illimitable  mental  torture 
which,  just  because  there  was  no  reason  for  it, 
seemed  incurable.  The  image  of  a  bridge  in  the 
water  suddenly  gave  me  back  my  confidence  in  my- 
self and  my  accustomed  joyousness.  It  was  only  a 
reflection ;  but  never  believe  those  who  tell  you  that 
these  things  are  nothing  but  reflections. 

Ill 

When  a  man  who  is  cruelly  wounded  in  his  body  or 
his  spirit  preserves  a  cheerful  faith  and  never  coases 
_to  be  the  master  of  his  misfortune,  I  say  that  he 
has  grace. 

When  a  true  man  is  able,  for  an  hour,  to  contem- 
plate without  uneasiness  his  own  thoughts  and  ac- 
tions, I  say  that  he  is  touched  with  grace,  and  I  hope 
that  hour  may  last  a  day  and  that  day  an  entire 
life. 

Like  a  sailing-vessel  that  stretches  through  the  air 
its  slender,  vibrant  cables,  probes  the  sky  with  its 
strong  and  supple  masts,  offers  to  the  wind,  at  ever- 
varying  angles,  the  white  resistance  of  its  sails  and 
marvelously  dominates  all  the  forces  of  the  air  while 
seeming  to  obey  them,  the  man  who  possesses  grace 
enjoys  a  communion  that  is  profound,  perfect,  ex- 


THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       151 

quisite,  not  only  with  whatever  in  the  world  is  per- 
ceptible to  us,  but  above  all  with  what  is  unknown. 

That  man  weighs  much  in  the  baskets  of  the  win- 
nower. That  man  does  not  see  only  within  the  lim- 
its of  his  own  flesh.  He  fills  in  his  own  self  almost 
the  whole  universe,  participates  gloriously  in  the  in- 
finite. 

I  know  that  it  often  happens  that  the  beautiful 
ship  sees  its  sails  sinking  in  distress  and  no  longer 
feels  its  ropes  trembling  in  the  wind.  The  time 
comes  when  it  stops  painfully  in  the  stupor  and  in- 
difference of  noon. 

The  time  comes  when  the  rich  man  suddenly  finds 
himself  on  Job's  dung-heap.  The  time  comes  when, 
without  reason,  grace  deserts  the  heart. 

Wait  expectantly,  with  sails  spread  like  an  ear, 
with  rigging  firm,  and  perhaps,  where  others  less 
trustful  would  find  themselves  abandoned,  you  will 
perceive  a  certain  relenting  breeze. 

You  must  never  lose  contact  with  the  universe  if 
you  wish  to  live  in  the  state  of  grace. 

IV 

Welcome  your  own  true  thought,  whatever  may 
be  the  hour  at  which  it  visits  you.  If  it  chooses  to 
rouse  you  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  rise  to  do  it 
honor  and  look  at  it  with  clear  eyes. 

There  are  some  who  have  just  missed  an  hour  of 


152  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

\ 
greatness  because  they  preferred  to  slumber  under 

the  warm  eiderdown.  The  spirit  called  them  in  a 
low  voice,  in  the  darkness  of  the  cold  room ;  they  did 
not  rise  and  they  will  never  know  what  they  might 
have  become.  They  will  try-  to  console  themselves 
by  thinking  they  have  dreamed;  will  they  ever  con- 
sole themselves? 

There  are  some  who,  suddenly,  through  the  mist  of 
tobacco  smoke,  have  seen  their  souls,  like  some 
long-awaited  supernatural  being,  watching  them. 

At  the  moment  they  were  playing  cards  or  read- 
ing their  paper;  they  thought:  "Wait,  I'll  join  you 
in  a  moment."  The  game  ended,  or  the  paper 
thrown  aside,  the  visitor  had  departed. 

They  rushed  forth  in  pursuit,  their  hearts  con- 
vulsed with  shame  and  anguish.  Alas !  the  deep 
melancholy  glance  will  perhaps  never  shine  upon 
them  again.  Perhaps  they  will  never  again  come 
face  to  face  with  themselves. 

In  the  midst  of  pleasure,  when  you  are  enjoying 
the  company  of  a  woman  or  the  conversation  of  bold, 
intelligent  men,  if  you  chance  to  hear  the  voice  of 
solitude  singing  like  a  siren  at  your  feet,  leave 
everything  to  flee  with  her. 


When  Epictetus  said :  "  Our  good  and  evil  exist 
only   in  our   own   will,"  he  misstated   the  problem. 


'      THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       153 

That  is  one  way  of  solving  it,  but  more  often  it  is  a 
way  of  assuming  that  it  has  been  solved,  an  expe- 
dient for  passing  it  over. 

I  am  not  happy  today ;  I  am  not  pleased  with  my- 
self, I  am  not  pleased  with  anyone;  I  feel  quite  cer- 
tain that  everything  I  undertake  will  be  a  failure, 
above  all,  above  all,  I  do  not  want  to  undertake  any- 
thing; I  view  all  things  with  an  unprofitable  eye,  an 
irritable  and  apparently  dricd-up  soul.  I  am  driven 
to  suffer  myself  and  make  others  suffer.  Oh !  I 
am  without  grace!  I  know  it  and  I  am  far  from 
admiring  myself.  Secretly  I  long  to  feel  grace  at 
last  descending  on  my  head  and  shoulders  like  a 
mantle  of  soft  sunshine,  like  the  honeyed  perfume 
that  falls  from  the  lime-trees. 

What  does  that  old  man  want?  Why  does  he  re- 
peat with  a  sort  of  obstinacy :  "  It  depends  upon  you 
to  make  a  good  use  of  every  event  "? 

No  doubt  it  depends  upon  me! 

But  what  are  we  to  do  when  nothing  can  be  blamed 
upon  events?  And  what  when,  indeed,  there  are  no 
events. 

Is  it  true  that  it  depends  upon  me  to  be  myself  at 
such  times  also?  Answer  me,  great,  silent  trees! 
Answer  me,  fir-tree,  weighted  down  with  sleet  and 
dreaming — Heine  has  told  me  —  of  the  palm  con- 
sumed with  burning  heat  in  the  tropics. 

"  Drive  out,"  replies  the  philosopher,  "  drive  out 


154  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

your  desires  and  your  fears  and  you  will  never  again 
suffer  tyranny." 

True ;  but  I  have  only  one  fear :  not  to  be  the 
best  man  I  may ;  only  one  desire,  not  to  give  in  to 
myself. 

The  sage  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  then  says  in  a 
gentle  voice :  "  Bear  and  forbear."  And  he  is  not 
thinking  only  of  the  storms  that  come  from  without. 

He  says  this  because  he  well  knows  that  in  order 
to  be  happy  one  must  be  visited  by  grace. 

All  the  stoics  have  drawn  up  rules  of  virtue.  Not 
one  has  suggested  the  means  that  will  give  us  the 
strength  to  apply  them.  For  the  wish  is  not  enough. 
The  gift  is  necessary,  that  secret  impulse  which  is 
grace  itself. 

VI 

Praise  be  to  thee,  divine  world,  that  hast  deliv- 
ered me  from  anger  by  revealing  to  me  in  time  that 
trembling  blossom  of  the  convolvulus ! 

Praise  be  to  thee,  divine  world,  that,  at  the  very 
limit  of  my  fatigue,  in  the  midst  of  my  perils,  hast 
chosen  mysterious  ways  to  light  me  with  an  inner 
smile ! 

Millions  of  unhappy  men  who  are  suffering  at  this 
moment  on  the  fields  of  distracted  Europe  are  aware 
that  at  the  blackest  moment  of  distress  a  strange 
consolation  can  penetrate  them ;  it  is  as  if  the  fingers 


THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       155 

cluching  one's  heart  suddenly  relaxed  their  grip. 
There  are  some  who  call  this  God.  Many  others  give 
no  name  to  the  miracle,  but  long  for  it  on  their  knees 
all  the  same. 

The  voice  no  longer  speaks  from  the  burning  bush. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  sound  of  last  year's  leaves  still 
rustling  in  the  branches  of  an  oak.  Sometimes 
there  is  no  sound ;  only  the  speaking  glance  of  a 
veronica  in  ecstasy  among  the  April  fields. 

I  am  quite  willing  to  bear,  but  I  do  not  wish  to 
forbear.  I  do  not  wish  not  to  meet  grace  halfway, 
not  to  seek  for  it  in  the  night  flooded  with  frosty 
perfumes,  in  the  tossing  forest  where  two  inter- 
locked branches  groan  through  the  long  hours,  on 
the  plateau  haunted  with  thistles  that  labor  with 
feverish  piety  to  perpetuate  their  innumerable 
lineage. 

I  ask  only  to  be  allowed  to  interrogate  the  earth 
like  those  who  seek  minerals  and  water-courses,  and 
to  experience  every  morning  the  green  ascent  of  the 
spring-time  over  the  rocky  slopes. 

I  do  not  know  by  what  path  joy  will  come;  I  ask 
only  to  be  permitted,  none  the  less,  to  go  to  meet 
it,  for  truly  I  cannot  sit  here  by  this  mile-post  at  the 
cross-roads,  and  placidly  await  it. 

One  joy  has  come  to  me  during  the  war,  one  that 
is  undoubtedly  the  greatest  joy  of  my  life:  that  of 
having  a  child.  My  reason  did  not  revolt  at  it,  it 


156  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

did  not  dare  to  tell  me  that  it  was  foolhardy  to  de- 
sire a  child  at  a  time  when  the  human  world  was  left 
without  defense  against  confusion,  disorder  and 
crime.  Yes,  I  rejoiced  to  have  a  man-child  born 
to  me  now  when  the  future  of  men  seems  to  be  cor- 
rupted for  long  years  to  come.  I  even  hailed  the 
child  as  a  savior.  You  see,  the  paths. of  joy  are  as 
unknown  to  us  as  those  of  grace. 

I  shall  not  forbear,  therefore,  and  when  I  feel  my 
heart  bleeding  from  an  unjust  wound  I  shall  go  with 
respectful  steps  and  recover  myself  in  the  world  of 
solitude.  I  shall  not  ask  in  the  name  of  justice,  I 
shall  not  insist,  I  shall  not  importune ;  I  shall  wait 
until  it  manifests  itself  and  sets  me  free,  I  shall  wait 
until  at  last  it  bestows  upon  me  the  grace  which,  like 
a  fine  sap,  like  mother's  milk,  it  always  contains. 

Solitude!  I  can  still  conquer  it  among  a  hundred 
thousand  chattering  companions ;  I  know  how  to 
sing  to  myself  little  songs  that  surround  me  with  the 
silence  of  the  steppes. 

I  will  go  back  again  to  the  ravine  where,  the  whole 
summer  long,  a  blackbird  I  know  of  whistles  that 
same  liquid  song  that  grows  purer  and  more  perfect 
from  week  to  week.  Ten  notes  are  his  whole  career 
and  his  reason  for  being.  Perhaps  on  a  day  that 
music  will  be  just  what  my  soul  needs  to  recover  its 
flight,  like  a  stranded  bark  which  a  lazy  wave  has 
just  set  floating. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       157 

I  will  go  back  to  the  spots  where  I  have  been 
happy,  and  I  do  not  think  this  will  be  very  impru- 
dent ;  for,  like  the  perfume  a  woman  leaves  in  her 
garments,  like  a  drop  of  wine  in  the  bottom  of  a 
glass,  a  little  happiness  often  remains  attached  to 
things. 

I  shall  go  out  again  behind  the  hamlet,  where  I 
know  that  every  morning  a  couple  of  turtle-doves 
mingle  a  plaint  that  secretly  cuts  the  silence,  hollows 
it  with  a  melodious  tunnel. 

And  I  shall  stretch  myself  out  there,  my  face  to 
the  sky,  like  a  well-exposed  vine  that  longs  to  ripen 
some  fine  fruit. 

I  ;im  saying  what  I  shall  do,  with  the  sole  purpose, 
with  the  deep  desire,  that  you  will  all  do  the  same, 
and  that  you  will  each  turn  to  your  favorite  star; 
and  all  this  with  the  earnest  desire  that  you  will  not 
be  content  to  remain  sheep  marked,  without  redemp- 
tion, for  the  knife. 

It  requires  little  at  times.  The  soul  is  not  more 
exacting  than  the  body.  I  have  seen  exhausted  sol- 
diers whom  a  single  swallow  of  brandy  raised  up 
again  to  the  heights  of  courage.  I  have  seen  seri- 
ously wounded  men  brought  back  to  life  when  their 
bodies  were  turned  a  little  in  order  to  facilitate  the 
uncertain  flow  of  the  blood. 

The  soul  is  no  less  fragile,  no  less  sensitive.  If 
the  western  view  keeps  you  sad,  turn  lightly  to  the 


158  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

south.     We  do  not  know  what  the  divine  world  holds 
in  store. 

VII 

Happy  are  those  who  are  able  to  pray.  It  is 
thus  that  Christians  solicit  grace. 

It  is  easy  to  fall  on  one's  knees ;  but  to  be  able  to 
pray  one  must  already  possess  that  grace  which  one 
implores.  It  is  so  great  a  gift,  the  gift  of  prayer, 
that  it  is  almost  indelicate  to  desire  anything  else 
from  it. 

To  drink  is  a  small  matter.  To  be  thirsty  is 
everything. 

Why  do  the  Christians,  who  counsel  us  to  pray 
in  order  to  obtain  grace,  never  tell  us  what  we  must 
do  in  order  to  be  able  to  pray?  It  is  not  for  noth- 
ing, nevertheless,  that  they  arrange  the  play  of  light 
and  shade  through  their  stained-glass  windows,  the 
odor  of  stones  and  incense,  the  silence  of  the  vaults 
and  the  propitiatory  sights  of  the  organ,  all  those 
harmonious  snares  set  for  the  wandering  prayer. 

As  for  me,  I  shall  take  a  staff  and  go  out  seeking 
the  solitude  of  the  world.  If  this  world  is  a  city 
street  at  dawn, —  that  will  do !  A  misty  dock,  its 
outline  broken  by  rails  and  masts, —  that  will  do ! 
A  sunken  road,  lighted  by  the  flowering  broom, — 
that  will  do !  The  court  of  a  barrack,  the  muddy  en- 


THE  CHOICE  OF  THE  GRACES       159 

closure  of  a  prison-camp,  oh !  pitiful  as  it  may  seem 
to  me,  may  it  still  seem  good ! 

If  I  can  walk,  straight  before  me  or  far  and  wide, 
I  can  pray.  If  I  can  see  a  scrap  of  the  sky,  I  can 
pray.  And  with  all  nature  offered  to  my  soul,  I 
can  pray,  I  can  pray  in  spite  of  everything  and  as 
if  without  willing  it.  I  must  see  that  osier-bed,  or 
the  radiant  awning  of  that  wagon,  or  the  image  of 
the  bridge  in  the  water.  I  must  hear  the  moaning 
of  those  interlaced  branches;  then  I  am  able  to  feel 
myself  bathed  in  grace. 

Grace !  It  is  indeed  the  fleeting  consciousness  man 
has  of  his  divinity. 

And  now,  now  especially,  and  more  than  ever,  we 
say  to  ourselves,  man  must  have  faith  in  his  divinity ! 


IX 

APOSTLESHIP 


THE  beautiful  legend  of  the  multiplication  of  the 
loaves  of  bread  is  miraculous  only  in  the  ma- 
terial order  to  which  we  try  to  confine  it.  But  the 
infinite  multiplication  of  moral  nourishment  is  our 
daily  spectacle,  our  joy,  our  encouragement. 

We  know  that  the  possession  of  material  goods  in- 
clines us  to  exclusiveness,  solitary  satisfaction:  if  I 
wish  to  share  with  you  this  beautiful  apple  I  hold  in 
my  hand,  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  enjoy  only  half 
of  it  myself.  And  if  there  are  four  of  us  the  part 
each  one  has  will  be  proportionally  reduced.  Ah ! 
blessed  would  be  the  wonder-worker  who  could  re- 
fresh us  all  with  a  single  glass  of  water,  stay  us  all 
with  a  single  mouthful  of  bread. 

That  miracle  flashes  forth  every  day  before  our 
eyes.  All  moral  wealth  seems  to  increase  by  being 
possessed  in  common.  The  more  a  truth  is  spread 
abroad  the  more  its  beauty,  its  prestige,  and  in  a 
way  its  efficacy,  grows.  The  veneration  a  hundred 

160 


APOSTLESHIP  161 

peoples  throw  round  a  painting  of  da  Vinci's,  a  song 
of  Gliick's,  or  a  saying  of  Spinoza's  has  not  par- 
titioned these  lovely  treasures  but  has  added  to  their 
importance  and  their  glory,  has  developed  and  opened 
up  the  whole  sum  of  joy  that  lies  latent  in  them. 
Great  ideas  have  snrh  radiant  strength!  They  cross 
space  and  time  like  avalanches:  they  carry  along 
with  them  whatever  they  touch.  They  are  the  only 
riches  that  one  shares  without  ever  dividing  them. 

This  fact  invites  each  one  of  us  to  make  himself 
the  modest  and  persevering  apostle  of  his  own  truths, 
the  propagator  of  his  discoveries,  the  dispenser  of 
his  moral  riches.  Our  own  interest  demands  it  im- 
peratively, no  less  than  the  interest  of  others.  We 
shall  never  be  really  happy  until  we  have  admitted 
and  converted  to  our  joy  those  whom  we  love;  and 
we  shall  love  them  all  the  better  for  having  brought 
them  some  joy,  for  being  among  the  causes  of  their 
comfort. 

The  journeys  we  have  made  alone  without  com- 
panions leave  us  a  memory  that  is  melancholy  and 
without  warmth.  It  is  because  we  have  had  no  one  to 
whom  we  could  communicate  our  admiration,  our 
wonder.  Seated  alone  before  the  most  majestic 
landscapes,  we  have  had  no  one  to  whom  we  could 
express  our  enthusiasm,  and  deprived  of  this  expan- 
sion it  has  been  stunted,  it  has  remained,  we  might 
say,  poor.  Sharing  it  would  have  enriched  it. 


162  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

We  love  solitude,  indeed;  it  is  the  cold  and  silent 
fountain  at  which  our  soul  is  purified  and  confirmed. 
But  what  would  it  profit  us  to  have  amassed  great 
riches,  by  the  help  of  solitude,  if  we  had  no  one  to 
whom  to  offer  them? 

It  is  because  he  feels  this  anxiety  that  man  seeks 
a  lasting  union.  Among  a  thousand  generosities, 
love  offers  him  the  opportunity  to  enjoy  compan- 
ionship without  renouncing  solitude.  A  happy  home 
is  the  solitude  of  many  a  soul.  The  man  who  has 
entered  into  a  beautiful  union  is  sure  of  at  least  one 
person  to  whom  he  can  give  the  best  that  he  possesses. 

II 

Perhaps  you  will  say  to  me :  "  How  can  I  be  an 
apostle  when  I  have  in  myself  only  a  wavering  faith? 
I  would  enjoy  being  generous,  but  I  am  obliged  to 
beg  from  the  generosity  of  others.  Such  advice  is 
for  those  rich  souls  who,  precisely  because  they  are 
rich,  have  no  need  of  advice.  It  is  with  this  kind  of 
fortune  as  it  is  with  money,  it  crowns  those  who  al- 
ready possess  it!  My  soul  is  poor  and  timid;  what 
sort  of  comfort  would  it  be  for  other  souls  that  are 
poor  and  timid  also?" 

O  my  friend,  "how  deceived  you  are  in  yourself! 
How  much  like  ingratitude  your  modesty  seems ! 
First  of  all,  let  me  tell  you  that  the  heart  that  doubts 
its  resources  is  rich  without  knowing  it.  The  pas- 


APOSTLESHIP  163 

sion  of  humility  weighs  it  down ;  let  it  free  itself 
without  becoming  proud !  In  the  realm  of  the  in- 
telligence, you  have  surely  observed,  it  is  only  actual 
imbeciles  who  never  doubt  their  faculties.  The  man 
who  can  admit  his  own  insufficiency  at  once  gives 
proof  of  a  rare  perspicacity.  In  the  same  way,  if 
you  think  you  are  poor  it  is  because  you  are  not. 
The  only  natures  that  are  truly  arid  are  those  who 
do  not  recognize  and  never  will  recognize  their  own 
sterility. 

This  morning  you  went  out  at  dawn  to  take  up 
your  duties.  In  the  marsh  that  slumbers  along  the 
edge  of  the  road  there  were  such  delicate  green  and 
purple  reflections  that  you  were  struck  by  them. 
You  spoke  to  me  about  them,  very  subtly  and  sensi- 
tively, as  soon  as  you  were  able  to  see  me.  You 
were  generous  with  me.  You  shared  your  good  for- 
tune with  me.  Thank  you  ! 

Who  spoke  to  me  about  Faisne's  unhappiness? 
Who  suddenly  opened  my  eyes  and  made  me  realize 
the  profound  misery  of  that  soul?  It  was  you!  I 
am  still  touched  by  your  affectionate  insight,  I  still 
marvel  at  your  fortune. 

You  remember  that  night  when  we  were  lying 
stretched  out  together  in  the  fields,  looking  up  at  a 
sky  that  was  rippling  with  milky  light.  You  said 
nothing  to  me,  but  I  understood  that  evening  that 
you  were  possessed,  to  the  point  of  intoxication, 


164  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

with  an  immense,  terrible  idea,  that  of  infinity. 
Thanks  to  your  silence,  I  shared  with  you  that  over- 
whelming treasure. 

Who  lent  me  that  beautiful  Swedish  book  I  did 
not  know?  Who  spoke  to  me  so  enthusiastically 
about  it  ?  It  was  you,  you  again ! 

Who  sings  to  me,  when  I  am  tired,  that  song  as 
poignant  and  serene  as  a  breath  that  has  come  from 
beyond  the  midnight  oceans?  You  know  very  well, 
my  friend,  it  is  you. 

I  could  tell  you  of  a  thousand  instances  of  your 
generosity,  a  thousand  apostolic  words  that  have 
issued  from  your  lips. 

Ah!  my  friend,  can  you  disavow  such  riches?  Can 
you  show  at  the  same  time  such  bitterness  and  such 
prodigality? 

Every  day  you  discover  a  means  of  transforming 
into  happiness  the  elements  that  others  possess  and 
neglect.  Do  not  hesitate,  therefore :  show  them  the 
fruitful  use  they  ought  to  make  of  their  blessings. 

And  do  not  ask  any  other  recompense  than  the 
pleasure  of  having  been  the  giver,  the  initiator. 

The  total  amount  of  joy  that  prevails  on  the  face 
of  our  world  is  of  great  importance  to  you  and  to 
me.  One  must  always  labor  to  augment  it,  whoever 
the  direct  beneficiaries  may  be.  There  is  no  one  who, 
in  the  end,  will  not  catch  its  echo,  who  will  not  re- 
ceive his  own  personal  profit  from  it. 


APOSTLESHIP  165 

And  that  is  also  why,  in  the  present  immense  mis- 
ery of  the  world,  the  selfish  pleasure-seekers  feel 
themselves  ill  at  ease,  even  when  their  untimely  pleas- 
ures are  seen  by  nobody. 

Ill 

If  you  will,  we  can  begin  with  the  resolution  never 
to  undeceive  anyone  who  thinks  he  possesses  any- 
thing. 

There  are  some  who  make  it  their  care  and  pride 
to  deprive  their  neighbors  of  those  illusions  that 
Ibsen  calls  "  the  vital  illusions."  The  characteristic 
of  these  illusions  is  that  they  cannot  be  replaced. 
To  tear  them  away  leaves  a  man  mutilated,  without 
any  possible  reparation. 

Young  people,  assuredly,  have  a  very  exuberant 
sap  and  all  sorts  of  encumbering  shoots.  Skilful 
and  careful  shears  may  well  cut  off,  here  and  there, 
these  over-greedy  branches  —  and  the  tree  will  bear 
heavier  and  more  fragrant  fniit. 

But  can  you  without  guilt  take  away  his  wealth 
from  that  old  man  whose  illusion  is  his  only  pleas- 
ure? Beware  of  cutting  off  all  its  leaves  from  that 
old  trunk  that  will  never  bring  forth  again  and  has 
nothing  but  its  foliage  with  which  to  subsist  and 
feel  the  sun. 

Distrust  those  men  who  have  what  is  like  a  false 
passion  for  truth.  They  are  swollen  with  presump- 


166  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

tuous  vanity.  They  do  not  know  that  real  truth 
exists  only  where  there  is  faith,  even  faith  without 
an  object.  Of  what  importance  is  the  object?  It  is 
in  faith  itself  that  our  grandeur  lies. 

In  my  childhood,  I  often  used  to  stop  in  to  see  a 
certain  humble,  white-haired  shopkeeper.  She  vege- 
tated in  a  dark  little  shop  and  was  always  sitting 
behind  her  window,  where  the  dust  lay  thick  over 
the  toys  and  trinkets.  Her  business  was  very  poor, 
but  she  loved  to  say  at  night :  "  The  passers-by  were 
very  good  today.  They  looked  in  the  window  a 
great  deal." 

I  noticed,  in  fact,  that  nearly  all  who  went  by 
turned  toward  the  dark  shop  a  long,  dreamy  look, 
full  of  unusual  interest,  that  sometimes  caused  them 
to  stop  short. 

One  day,  as  I  was  myself  passing  before  the  poor 
little  display,  I  suddenly  understood  what  it  was  the 
passers-by  looked  at  so  kindly :  it  was  their  own  faces 
reflected  in  the  dark  window-pane. 

I  was  still  very  young,  but  I  realized  vaguely  that 
it  would  never  do  to  disclose  this  disastrous  discov- 
ery to  my  old  friend. 

IV 

But  this  passive  good  will  is  not  enough.  It  is 
not  enough  not  to  harm  things.  Marcus  Aurelius,  I 
believe,  has  said:  "One  is  often  as  unjust  in  doing 


APOSTLESHIP  167 

nothing  as  in  doing  what  one  does."  You  must  un- 
derstand, therefore,  that  not  to  share  your  inner 
fortune  is,  in  some  sort,  to  rob  those  who  surround 
you. 

We  must  first  declare  our  blessings :  we  must  try 
to  do  this  without  shame  and  without  arrogance. 
Those  who  enjoy  an  intense  and  efficacious  inner  life 
draw  from  it  a  great  deal  of  pride ;  they  would  gladly 
communicate  it  if  they  did  not  know  that  these  treas- 
ures seem  ridiculous  to  the  common  men ;  it  is  really 
shame,  therefore,  that  prevents  them  from  being 
proud. 

In  spite  of  the  cry  of  Hamlet,  it  is  through  words 
that  one  discovers  and  possesses  the  world. 

The  rhetoricians  have  done  their  work  so  well 
that  at  times  words  seem  dry,  empty  of  pulp,  empty 
of  juice.  They  are  no  longer  nourishing  food,  they 
are  discordant  sounds. 

It  needs  only  a  little  confidence  and  generosity  to 
restore  their  meaning  and  their  weight.  Then  they 
become  precious  and  faithful.  We  call  them,  like 
devoted  persons,  to  our  aid ;  they  come  at  once  out 
of  the  shadow  and  show  themselves  docile  to  our 
wishes. 

Marcus  Aurelius,  of  whom  we  have  just  spoken, 
has  said  this  also :  "  I  wish  always  to  define  or  de- 
scribe the  object  that  presents  itself  to  my  thoughts, 
so  as  to  see,  distinctly  and  in  its  nakedness,  what  it 


168  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

is  in  its  substance,  considered  as  a  whole,  and  sepa- 
rately in  all  its  parts,  so  as  to  be  able  to  tell  myself 
its  true  name  as  well  as  the  true  names  of  the  parts 
of  which  it  is  composed  and  into  which  it  can  be 
resolved.  For  nothing  is  so  suited  to  elevate  the 
soul  as  to  analyze  as  much  as  possible,  with  method 
and  justice,  everything  that  one  meets  with  in  life, 
and  always  to  examine  each  object  so  as  to  be  able 
to  recognize  at  once  to  what  order  of  things  it  be- 
longs, of  what  use  it,  is,  and  what  is  its  importance 
in  the  universe  and,  relatively,  to  man." 

It  is  with  words  that  this  task  is  accomplished. 

I  have  noted  another  beautiful  expression  on  this 
subject;  it  is  from  M.  Anatole  France.  "Words," 
he  says,  "  are  ideas.  ...  I  think  the  highest  race 
in  the  world  is  that  which  has  the  best  syntax.  It 
often  happens  that  men  cut  each  other's  throats 
over  words  they  do  not  understand.  If  they  under- 
. stood  each  other  they  would  ombraro  rach  other." 

Be  very  sure  then  that  the  words  of  which  we 
make  use  are  deserving  of  all  our  care,  all  our  re- 
spect. They  are  the  witnesses  of  our  thoughts. 
They  will  betray  us  if  we  degrade  them  to  base  uses. 

Choose  them  with  great  tenderness ;  that  is  a  qual- 
ity as  enviable  as  precision.  And  by  means  of  these 
choice  words,  loyally  express  your  fortune. 

Tell  what  you  have  discovered,  what  you  know. 
In  affirming  your  possession  you  render  it  sure, 


APOSTLESHIP  169 

positive.  You  labor  for  others  and  for  yourself. 
You  give  form  to  your  treasure  and  yield  it,  as  if 
perfected,  to  those  who  truly  wish  to  avail  them- 
selves of  it. 


Yes,  in  acting  in  this  way,  you  are  also  working 
for  your  own  profit.  Do  not  let  us  leavesthis  burn- 
ing subject  too  quickly. 

If  I  were  not  afraid  of  giving  a  conviction  the 
form  of  a  whim,  I  should  say :  "  You  do  your  work 
and  it  does  good  to  you." 

Among  the  ideas  that  are  dear  to  you  and  that 
you  are  glad  to  express  are  not  only  certainties, 
verified  results,  the  testimony  of  experience.  There 
are  many  wishes,  many  longings,  too.  By  virtue  of 
being  enunciated,  these  end  by  reacting  upon  you, 
by  gently  imprisoning  you.  (  When  you  speak  of  vir- 
tue, or  happiness,  or  the  spirit  of  adventure  or  cour- 
age, you  further  certain  things  that  are  indeed  your 
own;  you  further  also  many  other  things  that  you 
passionately  wish  to  have  become  your  own,  your 
unique  and  recogni/od  quality..  By  virtue  of  express- 
ing them,  it  comes  to  pass  that  they  in  turn  react 
upon  you ;  a  moment  arrives  when  you  are  morally 
—constrained  to  become  the  product  of  your  opinions. 
In  this  sense  your  work  does  for  you  the  good  that 
you  have  done  for  it. 


170  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

Admit,  therefore,  that  if  it  pleases  you  to  see  and 
to  paint  your  life  in  generous,  harmonious  colors,  it 
is  inevitable  that  harmony  and  generosity  should 
little  by  little  imprint  their  stamp  on  your  serious 
thoughts  and  on  your  acts. 

Therefore  speak,  speak  of  your  dream.  Every 
time  someone  tells  you :  "  You  do  not  live  up  to  what 
you  say,"  think,  with  a  smile :  "  Not  yet,  undoubt- 
edly ;  but  I  feel  sure  that  one  day  my  words,  that  is 
to  say,  my  thoughts,  will  prove  to  be  truer  than  my 
vagaries." 

When  you  have  tried  and  proved  this  method,  you 
will  attempt  to  bestow  it  upon  others. 

To  that  end  strive  to  win  a  reputation  among  un- 
certain, hesitating  people.  Be  prudent:  this  is  the 
time  when  it  is  of  great  importance  to  choose  the 
right  ideas  and  words.  But  if  you  see  one  of  your 
companions  torn  between  two  opposing  reputations, 
imprison  him  in  the  better  of  the  two. 

I  once  knew  a  man  who  had  done  many  good  acts 
and  a  considerable  number  of  reprehensible  ones. 
One  day,  when  I  saw  him  hesitating  between  these 
two  different  tendencies,  I  began  to  address  certain 
phrases  to  him  that  opened  somewhat  like  this :  "  You 
who  are  so  good.  .  .  .  You  who  have  done  such  and 
such  fine  things."  .  .  .  And  the  result  was  that  that 
man  became  really  good,  in  order  not  to  betray  the 
reputation  he  had  gained, 


APOSTLESHIP  171 

I  foresee  that  you  are  about  to  pronounce  the 
word  vanity.  Stop  a  moment!  It  is  not  a  base 
stratagem  that  causes  a  barren  soul  to  bring  forth 
a  fine  harvest.  If  I  had  called  the  attention  of  that 
man  to  what  was  mean  and  sordid  in  his  character, 
he  would  have  perhaps  become  a  villain  altogether, 
and  that  would  have  been  a  shame  for  him,  for  me, 
and  for  everybody. 

VI 

We  have  discovered  together,  you  will  recall,  that 
the  world  is  offered  to  all  men  that  it  may  be  pos- 
sessed by  each  with  the  help  of  all.  You  see,  then, 
that  irf  your  modest  role  of  apostle  there  is  a  means 
of  making  others  rich  while  securing  their  help  for 
your  own  undertakings. 

Estimate  your  wealth  according  to  the  impor- 
tance of  what  you  give.  Dispossess  yourself  boldly. 
Everything  will  be  returned  to  you  at  the  right  time 
and  a  hundredfold. 

If  the  great  apostles  were  able  to  bring  the  good 
news,  it  was  because  they  had  faith;  but  nothing 
could  have  exalted  their  faith  more  than  to  bring  the 
good  news. 

If  you  have  been  interested  in  something  you  have 
road,  in  a  walk,  if  you  have  been  astonished  at  some 
spectacle,  invite  all  those  whom  you  know  to  read 
what  you  have  read,  to  take  that  walk,  to  con- 


172  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

template  that  spectacle.  Show  some  discernment  in 
your  invitations.  Distrust  the  sceptics  a  little,  the 
ironical,  cruel,  or  contradictory  spirits.  Distrust 
them,  but  do  not  abandon  them :  they  are  the  strayed 
sheep  whose  return  ought  to  rejoice  your  heart  su- 
premely. When  you  have  made  them  admit :  "  Yes, 
there's  something  really  fine !  Yes,  there's  something 
interesting,  there's  something  worth  the  pain  of  liv- 
ing !  "  you  may  fall  asleep  with  a  smile ;  your  day  will 
not  have  been  lost. 

At  times,  you  will  make  a  discovery  so  rare,  so 
delicate  that,  by  some  secret  warning,  you  will  know 
it  cannot  be  communicated,  that  it  is  strictly  in- 
dividual, that  it  ought  to  re^nain  as  a  private  rela- 
tion between  the  world  and  your  soul.  In  that  case, 
keep  your  own  counsel.  Perhaps  a  day  will  conic 
when  your  thought  will  have  gained  in  precision 
through  being  amplified;  on  that  day  you  will  be 
mysteriously  informed  that  your  treasure  has  lost 
its  private  character,  that  it  has  become  suitable  for 
sustaining  your  communion  with  others.  When  that 
day  comes,  speak  forth.  Until  that  day,  however, 
be  patient ;  do  not  fall  into  the  error  of  those  spirits 
who  are  called  obscure  because  they  offer  us  impres- 
sions that  have  been  insufficiently  ripened  and  ex- 
perienced, impressions  that  are  not  for  all  humanity. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  someone  offers  you  one  of 
these  obscure  impressions,  do  not  reject  it,  do  not 


APOSTLESHIP  173 

laugh  with  disdain.  Force  yourself  to  feel  what  has 
been  pictured  for  you  in  this  faulty  fashion.  You 
will  do  your  partner  a  service  in  visualizing  his  dis- 
covery, and  you  will  perhaps  be  able  to  increase  your 
own  stock.  Perhaps  there  will  be  something  worth 
seizing  and  understanding  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

Always  seek  communion.  It  is  the  most  precious 
thing  men  possess.  In  this  respect,  the  symbol  of  the 
religions  is  indeed  full  of  majesty.  Where  there  is 
communion  there  is  something  that  is  more  than 
human,  there  is  surely  something  divine. 

When  you  deem  that  you  have  grasped  a  truth  do 
not  forget,  in  communicating  it  to  others,  that  there 
are  two  conditions  of  truth.  Any  truth  one  receives 
is  but  a  small  fortune  in  comparison  with  the  value 
of  that  which  one  experiences.  Therefore  persuade 
those  you  love  into  the  experiencing  of  truths,  into 
the  religious,  courageous,  persistent  experiencing  of 
the  well-beloved  truth. 

VII 

One  dreams  of  a  life  in  which  everyone  would  be  the 
apostle  of  what  he  possesses  and  where  all  would  be 
the  disciples  of  each% 

If  you  wish  to  be  an  apostle,  begin  by  never  mis- 
laying any  of  your  wealth. 

I  once  had  a  friend  who  said  to  me  almost  every 
day:  "This  morning  I  had  a  beautiful  thought;  but 


174  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

I  can't  find  it  again,  I've  forgotten  it,  I've  lost  it." 

You  have  a  purse  to  contain  your  money ;  conde- 
scend to  have  a  scrap  of  paper  on  which  you  can  put 
your  thoughts,  where  you  can  set  them  in  order. 
It  is  a  slight  means  to  what  will  eventually  be  a  great 
end.  Be  economical  of  your  treasures  so  that  you 
may  be  lavish  of  them  at  the  opportune  moment. 
Do  not  lose  what  you  wish  to  give  away. 

You  are  like  the  seeker  after  gold,  on  your  knees 
by  the  bank  of  a  river  that  rolls  with  sand  and  with 
nuggets. 

The  rushing  flood  of  your  soul  flows  by,  and  you 
watch  it  with  fear  and  delight.  Every  sort  of  thing 
is  in  it :  mud,  grass,  gold,  flowers,  formless  and  name- 
less debris.  Gather  to  one  side  what  you  deejn 
worthy  to  be  preserved,  do  not  let  it  escape  in  the 
torrent. 

This  mass  of  thoughts  that  crowd  and  elbow  one 
another,  this  storm  that  tumbles  its  way  over  you, 
this  unending  dream  that  you  have  when  you  are 
awake,  when  your  soul  abandons  itself  to  its  nat- 
ural, spontaneous  impulses,  there,  indeed,  is  matter 
to  terrify  you!  So  many  things  appear  and  are 
swallowed  up  again  that  scandalize  or  horrify  you; 
so  many  contradictions  bewilder  you,  so  many  jewels 
shine  furtively  forth,  that  you  are  by  turns  filled 
with  consternation,  stupefied,  dazzled. 

You  must  choose  among  all  these  things.     You 


APOSTLESHIP  175 

must  draw  out  of  the  current  what  you  recognize  as 
of  value  to  you,  and  let  the  rest  sink. 

I  beg  you,  keep  the  reckoning  of  your  own  soul. 
Keep  a  little  book  in  your  pocket  that  is  carefully 
brought  up  to  date.  And  do  not  trust  your  memory ; 
it  is  a  net  full  of  holes;  the  most  beautiful  prizes 
slip  through  it. 

You  must  not  have  too  much  fear  of  not  being 
up  to  your  task  when  you  are  approaching  great 
problems  and  great  works. 

That  is  something  worth  meditating  for  him  who 
sets  himself  to  obtaining  possession  of  the  world, 
who  wishes  to  invite  his  companions  to  do  the  same. 

Though  it  may  have  all  the  appearance  of  naivete, 
confidence  is  less  to  be  feared  than  the  terror  of 
ridicule  that  paralyzes  so  many  souls  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  most  beautiful  adventures. 

The  fear  of  enthusiasm  does  as  much  harm  as  ob- 
vious wickedness. 

It  is  better  to  pass  for  a  simpleton  and  become 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  disillusioned  than  to  miss 
the  opportunity  to  serve  as  the  apostle  of  one's  be- 
loved verities.  It  is  better  to  squander  one's  for- 
tune than  to  run  the  risk  of  being  the  only  one  to 
profit  from  it.  There  will  always  be  a  farthing  to 
fall  into  eager  hands. 

The  main  thing  is  to  be,  above  everything  else,  a 
man  of  good  will. 


176  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

The  true  enemy,  if  there  is  any  such,  is  the  phari- 
see,  the  man  of  outward  observance,  he  who  adopts 
every  religion  as  a  matter  of  fashion,  who  speaks 
frequently  and  passionately  of  his  soul  in  the  same 
way  in  which  he  speaks  of  his  necktie. 

VIII 

If  you  are  only  two  against  a  thousand  in  leading 
this  beautiful,  pure  life,  rejoice  that  there  are  at 
least  two  of  you  and  do  not  despair  of  your  course 
of  action. 

Is  it  not  Renan  who  has  uttered  this  profound 
saying :  "  The  great  things  in  any  race  are  usually 
accomplished  by  the  minority  "? 

Do  not  rejoice  because  there  are  slaves.  Let  their 
example  be  a  fearful  warning  to  you ;  let  it  fill  you 
with  an  overmastering  desire  to  free  them  from  servi- 
tude. 

To  the  apostle  Paul  is  ascribed  that  disquieting 
utterance  of  the  conquering  soldier :  "  Oportet 
hajreses  esse." 

Yes,  undoubtedly,  whoever  wishes  to  fight  needs  an 
enemy. 

The  dazzling  chance  of  such  conquests  is  not,  alas, 
the  thing  you  will  be  most  likely  to  miss.  But  every 
t  is  v\in  'hat  docs  not  tond  toward  peace! 

One  thinks  with  ecstasy  of  the  joy  of  a  universal 


APOSTLESHIP  177 

communion,  from  which  no  one  would  be  left  out, 
in  which  no  one  would  be  the  victim. 

Must  there  be  heretics?  Yes!  To  convince 
them,  but  not  to  vanquish  them,  and  still  less  to  put 
them  to  the  stake. 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART 

"  The  knowledge  of  external  things  does  not  make  up  for 
me,  in  times  of  affliction,  for  my  ignorance  of  the  moral 
world;  but  my  knowledge  of  the  moral  world  always  con- 
soles me  for  my  ignorance  of  external  things." — Pascal. 


It  has  come,  the  time  of  affliction! 

Whatever  may  be  the  outcome  of  this  war,  it 
marks  a  period  of  profound  despair  for  humanity. 
However  great  may  be  the  pride  of  victory,  however 
generous  such  a  victory  may  be,  under  whatever 
light  the  distant  consequences  may  be  presented  to 
us,  we  live,  none  the  less,  in  a  blighted  age,  on  an 
earth  that  will  be  devastated  for  long  years,  in  the 
midst  of  a  society  that  is  decimated,  ruined,  crushed 
by  its  wounds. 

Among  all  our  disillusionments,  if  there  is  one  that 
remains  especially  painful  to  us  it  is  the  sort  of 
bankruptcy  of  which  our  whole  civilization  is  con- 
victed. 

Man  had  never  been  prouder  than  at  the  beginning 

of  the  twentieth  century  of  the  discoveries  he  had 

178 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      179 

realized  in  the  domain  of  what  Pascal  called  "  the 
external  sciences." 

We  must  admit  that  there  was  some  excuse  for  this 
intoxication,  this  error.  In  its  struggle  with  matter, 
humanity  had  experienced  a  success  that  was  so  dar- 
ing, so  disconcerting,  and  above  all  so  repeated  that 
it  lost  a  just  conception  of  its  adversary  and  forgot 
that  its  principal  enemy  was  itself. 

Events  have  recalled  this  to  it  in  a  flash.  In  the 
last  year  or  two  it  has  expressed  its  discomfiture 
through  millions  of  simple  lips.  It  has  asked  with 
anguish  how  "  a  century  so  advanced  in  civilization  " 
could  give  birth  to  this  demoralizing  catastrophe. 
Stupefied,  it  sees  turning  against  itself  all  those 
inventions  which,  it  had  been  told,  were  made  for  its 
happiness.  For  hardly  one  is  absent.  Even  those 
that  seemed  the  highest  in  moral  significance,  even 
they,  have  contributed  in  some  degree  to  the  dis- 
aster. Only  the  fear  of  creating  an  uncontrollable 
situation  has  prevented  certain  of  the  belligerents 
from  forming  an  alliance  with  the  very  germs  of 
epidemic  diseases  and  thus  debasing  the  noblest  of 
all  the  acquisitions  of  science. 

A  doubt  has  grown  up  in  all  hearts :  what,  after  all, 
is  this  civilization  from  which  we  draw  such  pride 
and  which  we  claim  the  right  to  impose  upon  the 
peoples  of  the  other  continents?  What  is  this  thing 
that  has  suddenly  revealed  itself  as  so  cruel,  so 


180  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

dangerous,  as  destitute  of  soul  as  its  own  machines? 

Eyes  have  been  opened,  spirits  have  been  illum- 
inated: never  did  barbarism,  in  all  its  brutality  and 
destructiveness,  attain  results  as  monstrous  as  those 
of  which  our  industrial  and  scientific  civilization  has 
proved  itself  capable.  Is  it  indeed  anything  but  a 
travesty  on  barbarism? 

What  inclines  one  to  believe  this  is  that  the  peoples 
which  have  dedicated  to  the  gods  of  the  factory  and 
the  laboratory  the  most  fervent  and  the  most  vain- 
glorious worship  have  shown  themselves  in  this  way 
by  far  the  cruellest,  the  most  fertile  in  inhumane 
and  disgraceful  inventions. 

M.  Bergson  has  said,  of  the  intelligence,  that  it 
is  "  characterized  by  a  natural  incomprehension  of 
life."  To  this  one  might  add:  and  by  a  complete 
incomprehension  of  happiness,  which  is  the  very  aim 
of  life. 

With  its  retinue  of  ingenious  inventions  and  clever 
complications,  the  intelligence  plays  the  part  of 
something  irresponsible  or  criminal  in  the  great  dis- 
order of  the  world.  It  seems  not  only  incapable  of 
giving  happiness  to  men,  but  actually  adapted  to 
bewilder  them,  corrupt  them,  set  them  quarreling. 
It  knows  how  to  provoke  conflicts ;  it  is  unable  either 
to  exorcise  them  or  to  resolve  them. 

Scientific  and  industrial  civilization  based  upon  the 
intelligence  is  condemned.  For  long  years  it  has 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      181 

monopolized  and  distracted  all  human  energies.     Its 
reign  has  ended  in  an  immense  defeat. 

II 

It  is  toward  the  resources  of  the  heart  that  our 
hope  turns.  Betrayed  by  this  clever  intelligence, 
whose  formidable  works  have  at  times  the  very  look 
of  stupidity  itself,  we  aspire  to  the  reign  of  the 
heart ;  all  our  desires  turn  toward  a  moral  civiliza- 
tion, such  as  is  alone  capable  of  exalting  us,  satisfy- 
ing us,  protecting  us,  assuring  us  the  true  burgeoning 
of  our  race. 

It  is  by  juggling  with  words  that  people  have  been 
able  to  attach  the  idea  of  true  progress  to  the  de- 
velopment of  the  mechanical,  chemical  or  biological 
sciences.  Trim  progress  concerns  nothing  but  the 
soul,  it  remains  independent  of  the  expedients  and 
the  practices  of  science.  This  latter  is  able  to  tri- 
umph even  when  the  true  progress,  the  ascent  of 
mankind  toward  happiness,  is  interrupted  and 
thwarted  in  its  profoundest  tendencies. 

There  are  not  lacking  people  to  tell  us  that  the 
war  will  mark  with  precision  the  advent  of  n  new 
world,  that  it  has  bought  in  the  blood  and  the  flame 
the  moral  elevation  necessary  for  a  fruitful  and  final 
peace.  We  cannot  share  this  optimism  of  official 
eloquence.  It  is  not  the  performance  of  tasks  of 
murder  that  opens  to  men  the  road  to  justice  and 


182  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

converts  them  to  good  customs.  Humanity  must 
grow  unaccustomed  to  crime,  and  it  is  not  the  armed 
intelligence  that  can  accomplish  this  miracle.  The 
pacifying  work  of  the  war  will  remain  in  peril  if 
everything  that  is  healthy  and  generous  in  humanity 
does  not  labor  to  dethrone  this  scientific  civiliza- 
tion which  still  abuses  society  after  having  reduced 
it  to  helplessness. 

I  consider  as  negligible  the  objection  of  the  stoics 
who  say  that  these  miseries  do  not  depend  upon  us 
and  that  we  ought  obstinately  to  seek  our  happiness 
through  them,  isolate  our  happiness  from  the  sur- 
rounding degradation.  No !  These  miseries  do  de- 
pend upon  us.  In  spite  of  its  disdainful  nobility,  the 
stoic  resignation  has  here  too  much  the  look  of 
egoism. 

This  moral  civilization,  when  its  hour  comes,  will 
revive  Christianity  and  propagate  it ;  it  will  not  leave 
the  human  race  in  the  abandonment  of  the  desperate 
misery  of  today. 

Ill 

The  naturalists  and  the  sociologists  have  con- 
tributed to  spread  this  idea  that  moral  progress  is, 
for  individuals,  a  function  of  the  anatomical  com- 
plex, and  for  societies  of  the  complex  of  habits,  in- 
stitutions and  industries.  It  is  on  this  understand- 
ing that  they  have  undertaken  the  classification  of 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      183 

species  and  arranged  the  various  human  hier- 
archies. 

That  is  a  view  entirely  external  to  things,  it  can- 
not be  verified  as  regards  individual  thought,  it  is  a 
sheer  fabrication  as  regards  collectivities :  the  war  is 
a  bloody  refutation  of  it. 

If  we  mean  by  moral  progress  that  which  affects 
the  conditions  of  happiness,  nothing  permits  us  to 
conjecture  what  advantages  have  been  realized  in  this 
direction  by  the  vegetable  and  animal  organisms  that 
have  not  chosen  us  as  confidents.  Habits,  as  we 
observe  them,  cannot  be  a  criterion,  even  if  we  admit 
that  we  ought  to  seek  for  evidence  among  them ; 
they  seem  as  if  designed  to  baffle  all  theories. 

Those  animals  whose  anatomical  structure  closely 
resembles  ours,  not  to  say  that  it  is  exactly  analo- 
gous, to  ours,  such  as  cattle  and  sheep,  give  proof  of 
a  moral  activity  that  is  insignificant  beside  the  real 
genius  shown  by  the  bee  and  so  many  other  insects 
whose  nervous  systems  are  still  rudimentary  in  com- 
parison with  those  of  the  mammals. 

Certain  sea  animals,  the  barnacles,  have  suffered, 
because  of  their  sedentary  existence,  an  anatomical 
regression.  We  know  that  the  mobile  larva?  of  the 
barnacles  possess  more  complicated  organisms  than 
those  of  the  adult  and  stationary  animal.  To  con- 
clude from  that  that  this  anatomical  regression  is  a 
lowering  of  the  species  is  to  assume  a  great  deal,  and 


184  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

it  is  to  accord  to  movement  a  very  debatable  signifi- 
cance. 

There  exist  species  of  plant  life,  especially  among 
the  conifers  and  the  ferns,  which,  for  thousands  of 
centuries,  seem  to  have  remained  in  an  almost  stable 
anatomical  and  functional  stage.  These  species  are 
none  the  less  very  widely  scattered  and  very  long- 
lived,  very  adaptable.  They  offer  an  outward  ap- 
pearance of  happiness  and  prosperity.  On  the  other 
hand,  nothing  permits  us  to  affirm  that  certain 
species,  like  the  orchids,  which  have  undergone  a 
delirious  evolution  resulting  in  forms  of  extreme  an- 
atomical complexity,  have  attained  a  true  progress, 
have  improved,  that  is  to  say,  their  moral  destiny : 
we  see  them  subject  to  innumerable  external  servi- 
tudes. Their  reproduction,  even,  is  only  possible 
thanks  to  the  intervention  of  outside  agencies  and  is 
fraught  with  perils.  A  seductive  argument  that 
smacks  of  anthropomorphism  inclines  us  to  believe 
that  these  species,  intoxicated  with  their  material 
difficulties,  ought  to  have  a  less  free  and  less  serene 
philosophical  existence. 

The  complexity  of  the  individual  organism,  which 
corresponds  strictly  to  the  political,  economic  and 
scientific  complexity  of  societies,  adds  neither  to  the 
possibilities  of  life,  nor  to  its  scope  of  activity,  nor 
to  its  hopes. 

Certain  fish,  the  pleuronectes,  have  sought  their 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      185 

salvation  in  a  very  bold,  precocious  development  that 
ends  in  a  displacement  of  their  eyes,  of  their  mouth 
and  in  a  profound  disorder  of  their  original  sym- 
metry. Looking  at  them,  one  has  the  impression 
that  this  development  has  thrown  them  into  an  im- 
passe, into  a  cul-de-sac  from  which  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult for  them  to  escape  into  a  new  evolution ;  one  has 
the  impression  that  this  whole  biological  stratagem 
has  considerably  restricted  the  destiny  of  the  species. 
Besides,  and  the  naturalists  know  it  very  well,  the 
species  that  are  most  highly  evolved,  most  dif- 
ferentiated, to  employ  the  consecrated  expression, 
are  in  a  certain  sense  the  oldest  species,  imprisoned 
in  their  own  tradition  and  scarcely  to  be  counted 
upon  for  a  new  adaptation,  a  profound  reformation 
of  their  organs  and  their  habits. 

IV 

This  digression,  too  long  for  our  restlessness,  but 
too  succinct  in  view  of  the  facts  it  involves,  raises 
several  criticisms. 

One  might,  in  the  first  place,  object  that  evolution 
is  a  thing  which  species  undergo  and  which  they 
cannot  influence  themselves.  If  that  is  true,  hu- 
manity finds  itself  forced  into  an  adventure  against 
which  it  is  puerile  and  presumptuous  to  contend. 

This  attitude  implies  a  submissive  fatalism  that  de- 
nies both  our  sense  of  experience  and  our  thirst  for 


186  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

perfection.  We  are  apt  to  construe  our  lessons  in 
such  a  way  as  to  draw  instruction  from  them.  We 
have  shown  this  in  many  moments  of  crisis,  and  we 
feel  a  certain  repugnance  to  thinking  that  we  cannot 
turn  to  our  own  profit  the  most  majestic  lesson  that 
has  ever  been  given  to  men. 

Certain  minds,  on  the  other  hand,  have  concluded 
that  humanity  is  altogether  too  old,  too  highly 
evolved  a  species  to  be  capable  of  ever  again  re- 
nouncing what  is  fundamental  in  its  inveterate  in- 
tellectual traditions,  its  scientific  acquisitions  and  the 
customs  that  have  sprung  from  them. 

If  this  conception  of  the  world  did  not  appear  as 
if  stamped  with  lassitude  and  scepticism,  it  would 
seem  to  leave  us  in  the  presence  of  a  desperate  al- 
ternative: either  the  acceptance  of  a  life  without 
restraint,  given  over  to  every  sort  of  folly,  exposed 
to  every  sort  of  lapse  into  crime,  or  the  solitary 
search  for  an  oblivion  that  only  waits  for  death. 

But  will  the  peoples  who  have  struggled  so  fiercely 
for  their  material  interests  remain  disarmed  in  the 
face  of  the  moral  danger  that  threatens  the  very 
morning  of  the  race,  will  they  undertake  nothing 
truly  efficacious  for  the  sake  of  posterity? 

That  is  the  anxiety  that  haunts  generous  souls 
today. 

The  political  arrangements  that  will  mark  the  end 
of  this  war  will  be  of  no  real  interest  if  the  minds 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      187 

that  control  the  spiritual  direction  of  the  peoples  do 
not  labor,  from  now  on  -and  in  the  future,  to  modify 
the  meaning  of  the  ideas  of  progress  and  civilization. 

We  cannot  believe  that  humanity  is  so  deeply  sunk 
in  its  convictions  and  its  intellectual  habits  as  to 
remain  forever  incapable  of  sudden  change  and 
reform. 

The  human  world  has  already  passed  through  im- 
portant crises ;  it  has  already  been  forced  several 
times  to  reshape  the  idea  it  had  formed  of  culture 
and  civilization. 

It  has  always  been  amid  its  ruins  that  it  has  medi- 
tated the  conditions  of  a  new  life.  If  it  is  true  that 
ruins  demand  the  revolution  of  customs,  let  us  admit 
that  the  heart  of  man  has  never  been  more  urgently 
entreated  than  today. 

In  any  case,  there  is  no  question  of  giving  up  those 
customs  that  form  an  integral  part  of  our  vital  econ- 
omy. It  would  be  fantastic  to  consider  the  regenera- 
tion of  a  society  that  was  deprived,  for  example,  of 
the  means  of  communication  which  have  obtained  for 
a  century  and  which  we  could  scarcely  abandon  now 
without  suicide.  But  it  is  fair  to  consider  how  great 
and  dangerous  is  the  hold  of  the  false  needs  which 
the  study  of  the  "  external  sciences  "  creates  in  us 
and  not  to  permit  our  ideal  activity  to  be  blindly  en- 
slaved any  longer  by  our  material  ingenuity. 

There  exist  in  our  nature  ardent  forces  that  one 


188  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

cannot  condemn  without  appeal  and  that  will  mani- 
fest themselves  against  all  discipline. 

The  passion  of  the  sciences  must  be  deeply-rooted 
when  we  see  men,  in  love  with  love,  peace,  humanity, 
consecrating  themselves,  as  if  in  their  own  despite, 
under  the  cover  of  some  abstract  sophistry,  to  tasks 
whose  results  may  contribute  seriously  to  the  wretch- 
edness and  the  debasement  of  society. 

If  one  might  gather  together  all  the  faculties  of 
the  spirit  for  the  single  cause  of  happiness ! 

At  least,  and  from  now  on,  let  us  cease  to  consider 
that  the  monstrous  development  of  industrial  science 
represents  civilization ;  otherwise  let  us  withdraw 
from  this  word  its  whole  moral  significance  and  seek 
another  for  the  needs  of  our  ideal. 

Let  us  cease  humiliating  moral  culture,  the  only 
pledge  we  have  of  peace  and  happiness,  before  the 
irresponsible  and  unruly  genius  that  haunts  the 
laboratories.  Scientific  civilization,  let  us  say,  to 
allow  it  to  keep  this  name  for  a  moment,  has  been 
for  us  so  prodigal  in  bitterness  that  we  can  no  longer 
abandon  it  uncontrolled  to  its  devouring  activity. 
We  must  make  use  of  it  as  a  servant  and  cease  any 
longer  to  adore  it  as  a  goddess. 


We  must  revise  all  our  definitions,  all  our  values, 
our  whole  vocabulary. 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      189 

All  fervent  spirits  should  set  themselves  to  this 
work,  and  their  task  will  be  all  the  heavier  the  more 
widely  extended  they  are  assured  their  influence  will 
be. 

We  must  strive  to  make  our  stunned  humanity  re- 
alize that  happiness  does  not  consist  in  travelling  at 
the  rate  of  sixty  miles  an  hour,  rising  up  into  the 
air  on  a  machine  or  talking  under  the  ocean,  but 
above  all  else  in  being  rich  in  beautiful  thoughts,  con- 
tented with  its  work,  honored  with  warm  affections. 

We  must  restore  the  cult  of  the  arts  which  con- 
tribute to  the  purification  of  the  soul,  which  are  con- 
soling in  times  of  affliction  and  remain,  by  their  na- 
ture, incapable  of  serving  ignoble  ends. 

We  must  employ  our  strength  to  altering  the 
meaning  of  the  words  "  riches,"  "  possessions,"  "  au- 
thority," to  showing  that  they  are  things  of  the  soul 
and  that  the  material  acceptance  of  these  terms  cor- 
responds to  realities  that  are  perfidious  and  ironical. 
We  must  at  the  same  time  transform  the  ideas  of 
benevolence  and  ambition,  open  a  new  career  to  these 
virtues,  create  for  them  new  ends  and  new  satisfac- 
tions. Those  who  consider  such  a  program  with 
irony  or  scepticism  make  a  great  mistake.  Its  reali- 
zation may  seem  illusory,  but  it  will  undoubtedly  be- 
come a  necessity.  The  material  goods  at  the  dis- 
posal of  humanity  will  find  themselves  considerably 
reduced  both  by  the  destruction  of  which  they  have 


190  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

been  the  object  and  by  the  long  arrest  of  the  pro- 
duction of  them. 

Their  rarity  and  their  growing  expensiveness  will 
be  the  source  of  grave  and  almost  insoluble  conflicts, 
which  new  effusions  of  blood  will  only  make  more 
venomous. 

Humanity  can  hurl  against  this  terrible  future  a 
defiance  full  of  grandeur.  It  can,  under  the  influence 
of  its  spiritual  masters,  seek  its  happiness  in  a  wise 
and  passionate  transformation  of  its  desires. 

Let  us  not  urge  it  toward  resignation  but  toward 
the  conquest  of  the  true  riches,  those  that  assure  it 
the  moral  possession  of  the  world. 

VI 

The  economists,  whose  science  the  war  has  so  often 
tested,  are  laboring  to  define  what  will  be  the  con- 
ditions of  life  in  the  period  that  will  follow  the  world 
war ;  their  estimates  leave  little  room  for  the  hope  of 
an  agreeable  and  easy  material  existence ;  they  hold 
over  the  mass  of  men,  conquered  and  conquerors 
alike,  the  menace  of  desperate  labor  and  slight  and 
wretched  returns. 

These  learned  researches,  added  to  the  similar  con- 
clusions of  common  sense,  do  not  seem  to  discourage 
the  laborious  race  of  men.  They  have  been  told  they 
must  work,  and  even  now,  while  they  are  struggling 
against  a  hundred  fearful  perils,  they  are  mentally 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART     191 

preparing  to  earn  their  difficult  living,  if  only  the 
war  does  not  take  away  their  lives. 

The  modern  industrial  monster  sets  these  condi- 
tions in  advance.  We  already  know  that  competi- 
tion will  be  pitiless,  we  know  too  that  enjoyment  will 
only  be  for  the  highest  bidder.  Individuals,  at  the 
sight  of  this  future,  mutually  urge  one  another  to  be 
stubborn.  The  world  is  preparing  to  take  up  again, 
obstinately,  the  old  order  that  has  cost  it  so  many 
trials.  As  yet  no  one  speaks  of  a  new  life. 

There  will  be  so  many  voices  to  praise  these  des- 
perate resolutions,  so  many  books  will  be  written  to 
persuade  men  to  persevere  in  their  old  hatreds  that  a 
timid  voice  may  well  raise  itself  to  protest  against 
the  consummation  of  the  error. 

A  man  whom  I  love  and  esteem  above  all  others 
once  said  to  me: 

"  When  peace  is  signed  and  I  return  home,  I  shall 
have  to  give  up  all  the  distractions  I  used  to  have  if 
I  wish  to  work  as  much  as  will  be  necessary  to  re- 
cover a  situation  as  good  as  the  one  I  had  be- 
fore." 

Believe  me,  O  my  friend  who  said  these  words  to 
me,  I  love  work  too  well  to  bl.'ime  your  decision;  but 
I  was  thinking  only  of  your  happiness,  and  it  was 
of  your  situation  that  you  spoke  to  me.  Are  you 
sure  that  they  are  rightly  related,  those  two  words, 
those  two  ideas?  What  do  you  hope  from  the  future 


192  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

if  you  are  not  going  to  allow  a  large  place  in  it  to 
the  soul? 

What  compensation  will  be  left  for  our  passion  of 
today  if  we  take  up  all  our  prejudices  again,  if  we 
return  to  our  own  vomit? 

The  old  civilization  seems  condemned.  To  break 
with  it,  we  must  first  of  all  seek  our  individual  satis- 
faction outside  money,  our  happiness  outside  the 
whirlpool  of  pleasure.  We  must  flee  deliberately 
from  the  tyranny  of  luxury.  In  this  way  even  the 
events  of  the  present  oblige  us  to  seek  our  true  path. 
Must  we  keep  blindly  and  obstinately  to  the  ways 
of  slavery?  We  have  slighted  the  best  sources  of 
interest,  joy  and  wealth;  shall  we  misprize  them  now 
that  they  remain  the  only  fresh  and  faithful  things 
in  the  aridity  of  our  time?  Shall  we  neglect  our 
souls  again  to  seek  a  false  fortune  that  can  only  be- 
tray us?  Shall  we  contend  with  exasperated  brutes 
over  possessions  we  know  to  be  unstable  and  decep- 
tive? 

No !  No !  Here  should  lie  the  lesson  and  the  one 
benefit  of  this  war:  that  we  should  undeceive  our- 
selves about  ourselves  and  about  our  ends !  Let  us 
not  devote  our  courage  to  choosing  a  ferocious  disci- 
pline devoid  of  the  ideal.  Let  us  once  for  all  reject 
our  calculating  and  demoralizing  intelligence.  Let 
us  organize,  in  the  peace  that  returns,  the  reign  of 
the  heart. 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      193 

VII 

The  search  for  happiness  cannot  ignore  the  con- 
ditions of  the  material  life.  Undoubtedly,  well-being, 
comfort,  dispose  us  to  a  happy  view  of  things;  but 
will  they  ever  replace  What  a  poet  has  called  "  the 
contented  heart  "? 

The  Anglo-American  peoples,  susceptible  as  they 
are  to  all  the  moral  and  religious  revolutions,  have 
applied  themselves  to  altering  the  original  sense  of 
simple  well-being  so  as  to  identify  it  with  luxurious 
comfort.  That  is  a  way  of  giving  a  moral  aspect  to 
pleasure,  making  an  honest  bargain  with  the  corrup- 
tions of  money. 

The  exigencies  of  this  sort  of  life  have  largely  con- 
tributed to  involving  these  peoples  in  a  frenzied 
whirlwind  of  business  that  wears  a  man  out  and  be- 
wilders him.  The  anonymous  writer  of  the  "  Letters 
of  an  Elderly  American  to  a  Frenchman  "  says  to 
my  countrymen :  "  Your  most  beautiful  country- 
houses  and  your  best  hotels  are  occupied  most  of 
the  time  by  foreigners,  while  your  own  people  have  to 
content  themselves  with  miserable  little  cheap  holes. 
Isn't  it  absurd ! "  Perhaps,  O  Elderly  American, 
but  that  absurdity  is  dear  to  my  heart.  May  the 
God  of  journeys  always  turn  my  path  away  from 
the  tainted  spots  where  rise  those  buildings  in  which 
the  existence  you  think  so  enviable  is  passed.  If  we 


194  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

are  to  consecrate  our  friendship  we  ought  to  discuss 
the  value  of  words :  what  you  call  happiness  does  not 
tempt  me. 

The  love  of  nature,  the  taste  for  those  simple, 
healthy  joys  that  were  so  vaunted  by  the  philoso- 
phers of  our  eighteenth  century  have  been  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  our  contemporary  writers.  A  laugh- 
able excess  has  led,  by  reaction,  to  a  furious  and 
ignoble  excess. 

The  dramatists  and  novelists  of  our  time  who,  by 
the  quality  of  their  opinions  or  by  their  political 
positions  are  ostensibly  laboring  for  a  moral  or  re- 
ligious end,  have  betrayed,  in  most  of  their  works,  a 
servile  and  ill-concealed  love  of  luxury.  It  is  use- 
less to  give  names ;  let  us  say  only  that  none  of  the 
modern  novels  of  certain  of  our  authors  lack  those 
descriptions  and  professions  of  faith  that  reveal  the 
quivering  longing  of  the  pauper  for  the  delights  and 
enjoyments  on  which  all  his  eager  desires  are  fixed. 

It  is  partly  to  the  influence  of  this  literature  that 
our  old  world  owes  the  headlong  rush  of  all  classes 
of  humanity  toward  those  pleasures  that  are  only  the 
phantom**  of  happiness  nnrT  will  nev^r  be  anything 
else. 

If  genius  wishes  to  consecrate  itself  to  a  labor  that 
is  truly  reconstructive,  truly  pacific,  it  must  discover 
other  subjects  for  its  works. 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      195 

VIII 

If  the  future  laws  governing  labor  do  not  allow 
enough  time  for  the  cultivation  and  the  flourishing 
of  the  soul,  a  sacred  struggle  will  become  inevitable. 

The  organizers  of  the  modern  world,  who  have 
shown  themselves  powerless  to  avert  war  and  did  not 
realize  the  vanity  of  our  old  civilization,  do  not  yet 
seem  to  foresee  the  urgency  of  radical  changes  in  the 
moral  education  of  the  peoples. 

They  continue  to  talk  to  us  about  the  superhuman 
efforts  we  must  make  in  order  to  redeem  their  faults. 

No  one  shrinks  before  these  efforts.  Society  is 
weary  of  crime  but  not  of  peaceful  tasks.  Every- 
one prepares  with  joyous  energy  to  take  up  his 
former  position  and  his  tools  again. 

It  rests  with  us  all  to  mitigate  the  severity  of  eco- 
nomic conflicts  by  working  to  transform  the  current 

•/  o 

idea  of  happiness. 

The  possessors  of  material  wealth  have,  in  general, 
for  centuries,  given  to  those  whom  they  employ  and 
direct  so  scandalous  and  basely  immoral  an  example 
that  they  themselves  are  the  principal  fomenters  of 
the  attacks  which  they  will  henceforth  have  to  un- 
dergo. 

In  the  machinery  of  modern  industry,  work  has 
lost  a  great  many  of  its  attractive  virtues:  all  the 


196  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

methods  in  force  tend  to  diminish  the  part  played  by 
the  soul  and  the  heart,  and  the  workman,  imprisoned 
in  an  almost  mechanical  function,  no  longer  expects 
from  work  the  personal  satisfaction  he  once  obtained ; 
as  a  poet  has  said :  "  His  empty  labor  is  the  fate  he 
fights  against." 

Certain  American  methods  have  based  their  theory 
upon  a  clever  sophism;  they  exaggerate  the  auto- 
matic under  the  pretext  of  thus  cutting  short  the 
length  of  the  work.  That  is  not  a  happy  solution, 
to  cut  short  the  hours  of  labor  by  emptying  it  of  all 
joy,  of  all  professional  interest.  It  is  better  to  un- 
dertake a  long  piece  of  work  with  relish  than  to  hurry 
through  a  short  task  with  repugnance. 

The  specialization  that  is  rendered  necessary  by 
the  very  extent  of  scientific  and  industrial  activity 
remains  a  dangerous  thing,  especially  among  an  old 
race  of  encyclopedists  like  ourselves. 

However  that  may  be,  the  peoples  consent  to  yield 
themselves  to  the  discretion  of  the  modern  world. 
May  the  monster  leave  them  some  scraps  of  a  liberty 
that  is  still  honorable  enough  for  them  to  think  of 
cultivating  their  souls.  There  will  not  be  lacking 
men  of  good  will  who  will  be  glad  to  devote  them- 
selves to  directing  this  liberty,  to  transforming  the 
meaning  and  the  demands  of  joy,  propagating  a  cul- 
ture which,  unlike  those  old  errors,  will  support  edu- 
cation more  readily  than  instruction, —  men  who  will 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART      197 

more  often  address  themselves  to  the  heart  than  to 
the  disastrous  reason. 

IX 

France  has  suffered,  suffers  and  will  suffer  more 
deeply  than  all  the  other  countries  of  the  world. 
She  is  at  once  the  altar  and  the  holocaust.  She  has 
sacrificed  her  men,  her  cities,  and  her  soil.  It  is  in 
the  heart  of  her  beautiful  fields  that  the  devastating 
storm  whirls  and  roars. 

In  the  depths  of  my  soul  I  hope  that,  because  of 
this  great  grief,  it  will  be  France  that  will  give  the 
signal  for  redemption.  I  hope  that  the  reign  of  the 
heart  will  begin  just  here  where  the  old  civilization 
will  leave  imperishable  traces  of  its  murderous  folly. 

The  resources  of  the  French  people  in  persever- 
ance, in  self-reliance,  in  goodness,  in  subtle  delicacy 
are  so  great  that  one  feels  a  word  would  suffice  to 
rally  all  hearts  and  give  them  their  bearings.  One 
feels  that  at  the  mere  phrase  "  moral  civilization  " 
thousands  and  thousands  of  noble  heads  will  nod  ap- 
proval, thousands  of  hands  will  reach  out  to  find  each 
other. 

People  who  have  obstinate  views  on  the  political 
meaning  of  wars,  on  the  eminently  economic  nature  of 
the  peril  that  has  been  run  by  humanity,  and  on  the 
efficacy  of  the  industrial  and  scientific  civilization, 
will  not  fail  to  proclaim  that  France  ought  first  of 


198  THE  HEART'S  DOMAIN 

all  to  return  to  its  furious  task  and  apply  itself  to 
surpassing  the  peoples  that  have  outstripped  it  along 
this  path. 

But  France  has  always  been  the  country  of  initia- 
tion and  revelation.  It  is  the  chosen  land  of  spiritual 
revolutions.  May  the  bloody  baptism  it  has  received 
give  it  precedence  in  the  discussion  of  the  future ! 

Do  you  wish  it  to  lose  the  glorious  rank  it  holds  in 
the  moral  order,  at  the  head  of  the  nations,  that  it 
may  fall  in  line  behind  the  peoples  who  are  enslaved 
by  automatism  and  swear  allegiance  to  a  worn-out, 
condemned,  bankrupt  social  and  economic  religion? 

If  the  destiny  of  our  country  is  to  make  a  human- 
ity that  is  plunged  in  affliction  give  ear  to  the  words 
of  peace,  consolation  and  love,  let  it  accomplish  this 
beautiful  mission,  let  it  teach  the  other  peoples  the 
generous  laws  of  the  true  possession  of  the  world. 


My  work  is  finished,  and  now  the  time  has  come 
for  me  to  part  with  it. 

It  is  going  off  into  this  misty  autumn  night.  My 
heart  is  both  glad  and  sorrowful. 

It  is  going  away  from  me,  henceforth  to  follow  a 
destiny  of  its  own  that  will  no  longer  depend  only 
upon  my  love. 

I  shall  turn  to  other  duties,  I  shall  assume  other 
cares.  A  voice  tells  me  that  they  will  always  be  the 


ON  THE  REIGN  OF  THE  HEART     199 

same  duties,  the  same  cares,  and  that  there  is  no 
longer  but  one  great  task  for  men,  one  single  task 
with  a  hundred  radiant  aspects. 

It  is  late.  The  night  is  drawing  to  a  close ;  it  is 
calm  and  yet  penetrated  with  a  vast,  subdued  mur- 
mur of  joy.  They  say  it  is  one  of  the  last  nights  of 
the  war. 

I  hear  about  me  the  panting  breath  of  the  wounded. 
There  are  several  hundred  of  them ;  they  are  sleeping 
or  longing  for  sleep  and  rest.  Their  burning  breath 
is  like  a  lamentation.  Many  of  them  will  never  see 
the  peace  they  have  so  dearly  bought.  They  are 
perhaps  the  wounded  of  the  last  battle,  the  last  vic- 
tims, the  last  martyrs. 

Over  the  whole  face  of  the  world  souls  are  suffer- 
ing with  them,  for  them,  souls  which  the  angel  of 
death  laboring  here  this  night  will  not  deliver. 

My  work  is  finished.  It  begins  to  withdraw  from 
me.  If  it  can  bring  any  consolation  to  a  single  one 
of  these  suffering  souls,  let  me  believe  that  it  has  ful- 
filled its  destiny. 


THE    END 


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